


Jaguar God

by radagastcar



Series: The Heathens Saga [4]
Category: Avenged Sevenfold
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26513152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radagastcar/pseuds/radagastcar
Summary: Almost six years after they first met, Brian and Findlay have settled into their lives together - or, as much of it as they can spend together when they aren't touring. Their "agreement" still lives on, but seems to have fallen largely by the wayside for at least one of the guitarists.But all comfort flies out the window at Las Rageous, and a near-miss threatens to destroy the lives of both guitarists.
Relationships: Synyster Gates/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Heathens Saga [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429528
Comments: 21
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This story was originally posted to Mibba in 2017 to keep track of my Camp NaNo '17 project. It's going to be riddled with inaccuracies - that's the nature of NaNo writing - and some awkward time jumps.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This story contains sexually explicit and sensitive ("triggering") content, excessive swearing and the occasional Oxford comma. Read at your own discretion.

As was her usual modus operandi, Findlay sat with her Docs dangling over the side of one of the backstage amps, watching the guys as the prepared to take the stage. Brian’s tech, Jorge, strapped him into his first guitar of the evening, trailing the mix to his belt where it would be easiest to switch between guitars when he needed to. Unlike the lavender-haired guitarist, who only switched between her usual guitar and a spare if she broke a string and her favorite acoustic for certain parts, Brian switched decently regularly because of how hard he hit his strings. Jorge had brought his first guitar and his mix to Zacky and Brooks’ side of the stage to set him up so he could say hello to the fans who had congregated, waiting with their backstage passes to catch a glimpse of the guitar god.

“Hey babe,” The god in question pressed his lips to her temple - she was always shocked how he was still so into her after five years. It was still on the verge of young love. With a grin, she turned her face up to catch his lips with hers, because she wasn’t innocent of the young love phenomenon herself.

“Thanks for the invite, Synyster, it’s an honor,” She joked, jerking her head over toward the backstage pass kids who waited for his attention even as they received that of his bandmates. “Your court awaits, your highness,”

In response, he turned his guitar stock down toward his feet and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his body toward hers as close as they could get between the freshly-tuned Schecter and the backstage amp.

“Thanks for making time for me, sweet,” He murmured into her ear, before he turned to greet a group of gaping fans. It wasn’t like the pair had been particularly secretive for five years, but their PDA in front of fans was very rare, and the hardcore kids seemed to think it an honor to see them together in front of them.

Findlay had played a show with her boys the day before at Las Rageous, and instead of shuttling off to Boston immediately to spend some time in the city before the Heathens played a surprise show, had decided to stay to see her partner play. It had been almost a year since she had attended an Avenged concert, and watching each other on stage always reignited that youthful fire they had years ago when they first started seeing one another. It definitely had something to do with the way he handled his guitar, she mused, as she watched him greeting the fans, grinning brightly as he gestured to her on the amp. Even the wives had a tendency to be around more than she was, just from the nature of her touring schedule with the Heathens. The younger band were probably of the same level of fame as the boys were when she first met them - it had taken a lot of hard work, but Tor’s idea to split guitars and share vocals had certainly paid off.

With a roll of her eyes, Findlay hopped off the amp, giving her shorts a little tug before she walked toward her lover. These days, a touch of grey at his temples gave away the fact that he was just over forty, but at barely thirty-three, she was still able to cover hers with lavender dye. She had kept it purple for him over the years - whenever she changed it, he had a tendency to pout. While she loved the pout, she also adored the grin that came whenever she changed her waist-length locks back.

“Hey, guys, how are you?” She greeted the kids, slipping under Brian’s arm as he grinned cheesily at them.

“This is my partner, Findlay. Finn, this is Winnie, Rory, June and also Brian.” Finn shook all of their hands in turn, smiling as brightly as she could manage. The black-haired guitarist knew she had little patience for fan interactions, but always tried his damndest to get the lavender-haired guitarist to enjoy interacting with strangers. It was a losing battle.

“Hi guys, nice to meet you,”

“Are you going to hang out with us backstage?” The girl who called herself Rory asked. She had blue hair, Finn noted, and was a little pudgy, kind of cute but way, way too young for Brian to take a shine to. Most of their fan girls were, these days - unless they were fans of a similar age as her, which had started to happen more and more irregularly these days as women of her age started to have their own families and move away from the music scene. He still managed to pull just as much tail as he used to, if he wanted to. Women didn’t have to be fans of Avenged to feel his undeniable allure.

“Uh, I usually sit on Syn’s side of the stage just in case I need to tune him and piss Jorge off,” She came back with the well-practiced reply, her arm around her partner’s waist. “Hey, it was awesome to meet you all though, look for me after the show. I’ll be with this asshole, I think.”

“Yeah, unless I find someone better during the show,” He winked down at her with that wry grin she still wanted to slap off his face before she made out with him. The lithe guitarist stuck her tongue out at him, but let the black-haired guitarist guide her to the other side of the stage.

Backstage, in the crossover between sides of the stage, he pushed her up against the wall, an arm on either side of her head as he sunk his lips down on hers.

“Fuck, Bri, don’t kiss me that hard in front of everyone unless you’re gonna make an honest woman outta me,” Finn joked, her hands buried in his slightly shaggy mohawk. Brian grinned down at her, nipping at her nose before he dug in for one more kiss, his eyes closed.

“I can’t help it, I haven’t seen you in a month.”

“And I want to see every ounce of that sexual frustration in your solos tonight, babe.”

“Anything for you, sweet. Can you flash me while I play?” It was her turn to be taken aback by his joke, shaking her head ruefully.

“You old asshole,” She grinned into his kiss, aware Jorge had pushed past them and was waiting impatiently on the other side of narrow the backstage hallway. He grabbed her ass, holding her body to his as he kissed her deeply with one hand buried in the hair at the nape of her neck, probably ruining her curls. She couldn’t have cared less.

“I love you, sweet,” He breathed into her ear, tickling one of her many piercings with his tongue before he swooped down to touch his lips to the space between her hairline and her ear, where she wore a tiny seven tattoo that matched his. It had been either she get the same tattoo he had there when he got his touched up or they both get their palms touched up, and neither of them had been interested in the latter that day.

“Love you too, Brian.” She touched her lips to his and allowed him to take her under his arm again, walking toward the open stage door to join Johnny and Matt on the side of the stage, briefly greeting the backstage pass fans that had congregated. Findlay sat with Jorge, chatting about guitars as the boys took the stage, beginning with Hail to the King.

It wasn’t until their fourth song - Buried Alive - that Finn got a strange feeling, and looked over to Brian’s side of the stage. She had been watching his solos intermittently during the show, wishing she was under those hands instead of the guitar, but it was something about Zacky’s missed note during the usually smooth chorus that drew her gaze.

Just as a gunshot rang out. And another.

“Finn, no!” Jorge grabbed her around the waist as she launched herself toward the stage and they both fell to the ground. As the third shot rang out, she saw Brian fall.

“Let me go! Brian! Brian!” Her screams were drowned out by the panic onstage, as security - and Matt - tackled a man in what appeared to be a Heathens shirt to the ground, wrestling a gun out of his hands.

Jorge let her go as he got to his feet, and she scrambled across the stage, half-crawling in her haste to get to her lover, who was trying to drag himself toward the side of stage. All she could think of was Dimebag, flashes of news stories about a slain guitarist.

“Brian!”

“Findlay,” His voice was weak, but he was at least alive as she laid hands on him, kneeling as a paramedic seized his hips.

“Brian, baby, I love you,” The paramedic - who was literally only there to deal with heat stroke and alcohol poisoning - turned him over, and she saw his hip. Covered in blood. Thank god it wasn’t center mass, but her partner had still been fucking shot. “Bri, sweetheart,”

“Sweet, I love you,” He breathed, his tawny eyes - always already tired - started to slip shut. The paramedic shouted something about backup and the need to ‘keep him with us.’ Finn pinched his stubbly cheeks between her calloused fingers, holding his face hard in her lap.

“Brian, Bri, stay awake, stay here,”

“I’m so tired,”

“Brian, do not,” The paramedic struck his cheek with an open palm so she didn’t have to, and she held onto his face as she called for him, begging him to reply. “Don’t you dare, stay with me my love,”

A gurney was brought out. Still covered in her partner’s blood, the lavender-haired guitarist wasn’t allowed in the ambulance because she wasn’t family. All she knew was that he was still alive when he was wheeled into the bus.

Shaking, she stood staring after the ambulance as it pulled away, scrubbing tears off her cheeks with bloody fingers.

“Finn, Findlay honey, come on. Get in this car,”

Strong, tattooed hands guided her into the car, and she realized she hadn’t checked on a single other member of the band or crew as she was guided into a big, black SUV by Matt, who held a stark white bandage against his side with his other hand.

“Are you ok?” She asked, numb, as she sat next to the singer in the vehicle. She didn’t have to be as close as she was in the backseat, as Zacky was the only other occupant aside from the driver and he was in the ‘captain’s chair,’ as the guys called it.

“Where’s Johnny? Where’s Brooks?”

“They’re ok, little thing, everyone’s gonna be ok Finn,”

“Did you guys call your wives?”

“Shh. Finn. Wait.”


	2. Chapter 2

On the way to the hospital, Zacky and Matt called a wife each, assuring them they were ok. Matt had a graze on his side from fighting the gun out of the man’s hands, but was completely fine and able to be transported privately to get stitches. Zacky escaped unscathed. Brooks had gotten something more than a graze but less than a full-out wound to the arm, being behind Brian when he had been shot, and had to go in the ambulance too as one of the paramedics applied pressure to the wound while working on Brian. Brian, it seemed, had gotten the worst of it, and Johnny had been able to go in the ambulance with her partner and the drummer when she had numbly been left behind.

“Fuck, guys… Fuck,” Finn shook her head, staring at her phone and Zacky called Lacey, making doubly certain she knew Johnny was ok if he couldn't call from the back of the ambulance. “I have to call Toric, he’s on a plane.”

“Leave him a voicemail, kid.” Matt pet her hair gently, like she had seen him do to his eldest to calm him down. It was oddly comforting, the guitarist decided as she leaned on his shoulder, letting herself cry. They were all covered in some sort of blood. She and Matt were the only two who had run toward the sound of gunfire rather than away from it - Matt because he really should have been Special Forces or some shit and Findlay because of her concern for her partner, and potential temporary insanity.

“Tor? Toric, we’re ok. I’m sure you’re about to see or have seen the news and we’re on our way to the hospital to see Bri. I think he’ll be ok. I love you.”

She hung up abruptly, knowing her brother would know exactly why she called him and that she would probably leave him another thirty texts and voicemails before they landed over in Boston for the surprise show the Heathens were supposed to do. Her next call was to their manager.

“Taylor. I’m going to the hospital. Brian has been shot.”

Shockingly - or perhaps not for the unflappable man - he took it in stride. Since he had come on the team, he had reminded Findlay of Dethklok’s manager in Metalocalypse, gently guiding the band to do the right thing but cleaning up their messes when that invariably went wrong.

“You won’t make it tonight. We’ll have to cancel the show. You’re gonna owe them, Finn, but please, focus on Brian,”

“Thanks, Taylor. I’m sorry I fucked everything up,”

“Findlay. Your partner just got shot. I’d say it’s ok. We’ll get in touch with the guys.”

“Tell Toric to check his voicemails. I don’t care if he has to turn his phone on mid-flight.”

“Will do. Focus, Finn. Talk to you in a week. Maybe.”

She sunk back into Matt’s warm arms as she dropped her phone in her lap, sobbing into his chest. Their one-time enmity was such a long-forgotten thought to the guitarist that she almost laughed when her somewhat delirious brain came back around to the thought.

“Why couldn’t I go with him?” She asked quietly as she gathered herself after a rough few minutes of sobbing and coughing into Matt’s chest. “Wait. Has anyone called the fucking Haners?”

After five years, she had only met his family in very small doses - a dinner here, reunion there. She and Toric had holiday traditions with Max’s family to uphold because the folks had basically raised them and a myriad of other excuses.

“Fuck, no,” Matt admitted, flipping open his phone. “Zack, I’ll call them, you arrange a car for them. They can’t just come, it's too far.”

He dialed. Zacky dialed. Findlay stared at her hands, covered in blood.

“Brian?” The singer’s voice was unusually hoarse. He must have been crying, too. They must have all looked a mess, but Finn couldn’t concentrate on the thought as she clutched the man’s shirt, trying to silence any sobs while he was on the phone with her partner’s parents. “We are all fine. Brian was shot, but he will be fine. We’re going to send a car to get you… ok, just you, Brian. Yes. Turn off the TVs then. Send the women shopping or some distracting shit. Let me send Val to pick them up, she’s great at that. Yes, she needs help with the boys. Definitely. I… I’m not sure about Misha.”

It had been almost fifteen years since the pair had separated, but Finn felt her breath catch in her throat when Brian’s father asked about his ex. Once again, Matt began to stroke her hair as he would his son’s.

“Finby, it’s ok. Yes, she’s with us, Brian, so I’d appreciate you not… Thanks. Well, you know what, from what… Fine. See you at the hospital.” He hung up, clutching his phone to his forehead as the car wound through traffic. “Zack. No fucking car. What a dick.”

“What? What happened?” Finn managed to tilt her head up for a moment before the singer soothed it back down to his chest.

“Don’t worry, Finby. We’re gonna make sure you see him before he goes into surgery,” She could almost hear his eyebrow waggle at Zacky as the other guitarist hung up with the driver he was about to send to the Haner residence with a hasty ‘nevermind.’ “I’ve gotta call Val again, I think the Haner women are going to take my kids.”

“Has anyone told Michelle Brian is still alive?” Findlay asked hoarsely, as they started to weave off the highway toward the hospital where her partner would be held. Both of the men paused.

“Johnny?” Zacky asked, as Matt got ahold of his wife again.

“Babe, can you do me a favor? Yes, I promise. I need you to stop at the Haner’s. ... Yes, his parent’s. Leave the boys before you come over. Bring Senior. … Yes, he’s gonna be fine. I promise. Tell Misha that if she asks. ... Do NOT call her. Don’t tell her where, Val. ... Don’t. I get it, she’s your sister, but Findlay is here… No, Val, I’m drawing a line. ... Ok, but she’s here and covered in Brian’s blood and Michelle and Brian have been over for more than a fucking… fine. Do what you want, but if she shows up in that hospital…”

Matthew hung up on his wife - Finn could still hear her shouting on the other end of the phone as he stroked her hair and pressed the touchpad. She was thankful for his arm around her shoulders as she clutched his shirt, still crying. Short of having Toric at her side it was the most comfort she was going to get.

“We’re here, Finby, come on,” The singer pulled her out of the car behind him, still holding her to his side. He needed her support as much as she needed his, she realized numbly as they walked into the Emergency Room. Zacky came around to her other side, slipping his arm around her waist as Matt walked up to the counter, leaving the two of them behind as he asked after Brian. Seamless.

Findlay leaned on Zacky, holding the side of his tattered jean vest tightly.

“It’s going to be ok, right Zacky?” She asked quietly as they waited, watching Matt with bleary eyes. The guitarist looked down at her, holding her close to his chest by her shoulders. He didn’t answer, just held onto the shorter woman as they waited.

“Ok, bad news is they’ve already taken him into surgery. Good news is it should be short. The doctors said he was still conscious and asking after ‘Finn and the guys,’ which is a good sign.” Matt pointed at a trio of chairs and they sat. “They’ll take me back whenever for stitches.”

“Where’s Johnny and Brooks?” Findlay asked, straightening between the two men. Wallowing in self-pity and worry wasn’t going to help any of them, she decided as she clasped her hands between her knees. The guys had literally just either been shot or seen their friend get shot or both. The thought helped her focus on her friends rather than herself, which certainly helped.

“I think Johnny went with Brooks to get stitched up,” Zacky provided, his hand on the small of her back.

A few minutes later, this was confirmed by a text from Johnny as a nurse walked over to get Matt. Zacky made as if to stay with the lavender-haired guitarist while Matt went back, and she waved him off.

“I’m going for a cigarette anyway. Please call me if you hear anything about Bri,” She patted the tattooed men on the shoulder and walked outside, finding an alcove to tuck herself into with her cigarettes and her phone.

She toyed with the device as she smoked, checking the time but not really registering it. She had gotten an email with a press inquiry from her publicist but ignored it - even if she was in the mood to answer questions, she had no information to give.

The lithe guitarist considered lighting another cigarette and thought better of it, instead deciding to find a bathroom to wash Brian’s blood off of her arms. Her clothes were a loss - while her black shirt wasn’t visibly stained, her jean shorts bore patches of Brian’s blood.

Brian’s blood.

The thought sent the woman through a loop and she found herself sitting on the pavement, staring at the blood on her hands.

Her phone buzzing brought her out of her revelry - and she answered it numbly, realizing she should have checked who was on the other end before she answered.

“Finby, are you ok?”

“Tor, it’s so good to hear your voice,” She managed to get to her feet so she could begin her usual on-the-phone pacing, back and forth down the narrow sidewalk. “I’m ok.”

“What happened?” Her brother’s voice was tinny and distant but it was him, and even hearing him speak was a comfort.

“I don’t know. I was on the side of the stage and I just knew something was wrong so I looked and then… He shot Brian, Tor. He’s hurt and I can’t see him,”

“Why can’t you see him?”

“They wouldn’t let me ride in the ambulance with him because I’m not family,”

“Why didn’t you lie?”

“I don’t know, Tor. I’m a little fucking freaked out,”

“It’s ok, Finby. Do you need me to come back?” She paused, considering the question. A lot hung on the outcome of Brian’s surgery.

“No, I think I’m ok. I’ll meet you back in LA.”

“Are you sure, Finby?”

“Yeah. I might need you in Huntington. It all depends on how this goes with Bri. I have, like, negative information about how he is. He went into surgery before we got here and I didn’t… I didn’t get to see him.” She stared at her fingers, picking at the blood underneath her nails. “I saw them load him in and then he was gone. What if...”

“Don’t say it, Finn, don’t even think it. You’ll see him soon, I’m sure. How long has he been in there for?”

“Probably an hour? Maybe a little more,”

“Where are the guys? Why aren’t they with you?”

“Matt and Brooks are getting stitches.”

“They got shot?”

“Yeah, Brooks was behind Brian, and Matt fucking tackled the guy. But they’re just grazes. Brian was the only one really hit.” Her phone started to buzz against her ear with another incoming call - she glanced at it. “Tor, this is Matt. I’ll call you when I know more, ok?”

“Ok. I love you, sis,”

“Love you too, Toric.” When she hung up on her twin she also accidentally hung up on Matt, and got a busy signal when she called him back. She tried again twice before a tattooed hand fell on her shoulder, spinning her.

“Did you hang up on me?” Matt didn’t look irate - he kind of looked like he was going to laugh at the small guitarist.

“I was on the phone with Tor and I still can’t figure this thing out… How’s the side?” She asked, touching the tattered edge of his flannel.

“Tender. But it could have been a lot worse, so I’m pretty thankful.” The burly singer tucked her small frame under his other arm and guided her back toward the hospital.

“All I could think of was Dimebag,” She murmured, ashamed of the thought. Which she almost was, shocked that her mind had immediately jumped to Haner’s death rather than anything remotely logical.

“It was terrifying Finn. I don't blame you. I've never been more scared,” He admitted as they walked up to the other three members of Avenged and a few members of their management team, who congregated in the corner apart from the more normal looking crowd of people who waited to be triaged. Even the management was tattooed and dressed in dark colors. “What have we got, team?”

“You ok, Finby? Get ahold of Tor?” Johnny held out his arms to the guitarist and she moved to him, nodding as the bassist folded her into his chest. “He's gonna be fine.”

Normally she might have been put off by the guys treating her like a faberge egg, but today she was grateful for the attention and compassion from them. The hugs were helping her focus.

“So we got the scoop from the doctors,” One of the management team, a burly man named Dan, noted. Finn straightened and faced the man with Johnny’s arm still looped over her shoulders so her back was pressed to his front.

“Brian has a fractured pelvis and a shattered femur head, so he might be looking at a hip replacement. There are some minor internal injuries that it might be best if the doctors told Finn about. And, Findlay, the lawyers had a go at his living will, and he put you in it. You are the one with his power of attorney while he's unconscious, did you know that?”

Shocked, the small guitarist shook her head. She hadn't even known he had updated his will - he had mentioned it in the past as a way of making sure she had one. Her old fogey was a true believer in making one's own choices, so truly Findlay shouldn't have been as flabbergasted as she was that he had updated the will. A little heads up would have been nice, however.

“Which is really great because previously Michelle had been entrusted with those decisions but… I guess we'll make sure we get a copy on hand if she shows up.” Dan concluded, smiling faintly at the lithe guitarist.

“We'd better have one on hand. Or several. Notarized. If possible. For when Michelle shows up waving the old one.” The rest of the men looked unfazed by Matt's statement, looking for all the world like it was normal. “So I think, Finn, we've all made the executive to stay until he wakes up. And then he's your problem again unless you want us to stay with you after.”

“No, you guys all have family to get to. I've got that asshole and Toric, and he's in Boston.” She tried to ignore the hitch in her voice when she spoke, realizing really, the two men - and her bandmates, of course - were the only ties she truly had to the world. And one was in critical condition. Johnny pulled her closer, stroking the ends of her hair. “Someone remind me to update my fucking will.”

“They have a room ready for him but hey want to get him in it before we barge in, so we've got some waiting to do.” Dan added helpfully, as one of the other managers, Mira, stepped away to make a phone call, supposedly to the lawyers.

“Anyone want a cigarette?”


	3. Chapter 3

Finn had been numbly surprised when Matt requested a smoke, his hand trembling as he took it from her.

“How's Val?” She asked, as the guys milled around quietly. Dan had stayed up at the doctor’s desk just in case there was a development, and to request Brian's things for Finn to hold on to. Vaguely, she realized she should probably clean herself up before she saw Brian - she wasn't sure what she looked like, but didn't want to send him into a coma because she looked like the ghost of a murder victim by his bed when he woke up.

“She's dropping the boys at the Haner’s to grab Senior, and heading over. I suspect that she's bringing Michelle too, but she won’t say. Which is why I don't plan on staying long.”

“What do the boys know?”

“Not much. They're used to the ‘mommys going to see daddy’ excuse, so we're going to ride that until we need to explain it - not to the younger ones. Just gotta keep them off the news. Which is getting harder and harder.” Especially since the elder Sanders was almost in high school. Their third and youngest, Muir, wasn't on things like social media or smartphones yet. “We told Cash a little.”

“Kids are way too plugged in now,” Zacky piped, rolling the filter of his cigarette between two fingers. “Tenn already uses my phone better than I can.”

“I can't fucking believe he's already five,” Finn said of the baby born on that fateful tour. “When did we get old?” She asked, one eye closed against the trailing smoke from her cigarette.

“You don't get to say that, you're a baby!” Brooks teased, massaging his wounded arm absently. He had been forbidden from playing until it had healed up a little - and between that and Brian laying in a hospital bed, it was safe to say Avenged’s summer dates were indefinitely postponed. “I wonder what that guy is saying down at the station,” He added after a moment, because their moods had certainly all lightened far too much.

“I think he was wearing a Heathens shirt,” Finn breathed, holding her elbow with the opposite hand to stop her arm shaking.

“That might not be relevant, Finn. You don’t know that.” Zacky asserted, reaching to squeeze her shoulder as Dan walked up.

“Hey guys, they’re transporting him to his room now. The surgery was a success, apparently. Finn, do you want to come with me? I’ll introduce you to the doctors.” She nodded mutely, depositing her cigarette butt before she followed Dan inside. She really had to hand it to the Avenged management team, they certainly were on top of their shit. Conversely, Taylor was hardly ever with the Heathens. She and her band mates had a lot more autonomy - if the Avenged guys were left to their own devices, they were apt to get into trouble. While Taylor was always on hand to clean up a potential mess, he let the Heathens come to their own conclusions, and guided them when he knew they couldn’t. Different styles.

“Dr. Patel, Dr. Moony, this is Findlay O’Shaughnessy. Finn, these are the doctors that operated on Brian,” Suddenly, Findlay was very acutely aware of the blood underneath her fingernails, on her arms. She still hadn’t found an opportune moment to duck into a bathroom and clean herself up.

“I would offer to shake hands, but I’m a mess,” She tried to flash a trademark rockstar grin, which probably looked more like a grimace, given the situation. “I’m Brian’s partner.”

“He’s in serious but stable condition, he should start coming out of the anesthesia soon. If he isn’t awake in several hours, you will need to make the call about a hip replacement.” Finn wished she had a notebook or something to jot down highlights from the tawny-skinned doctor’s tirade - there was a lot of information to unpack from Dr. Patel’s rapid deluge. He didn’t seem particularly personable, but the man was probably too busy to worry about offending rockstars with his crisp manner. “The bullet went in from the front just above the joint and out just below his left buttock - the concussion from the femur shattering is what broke his pelvis, and the pelvic break is minor. We had to stop the bleeding and assess nerve damage. He is very lucky, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy,”

“How long is healing time for a hip replacement versus healing… whatever is left of his femur?”

“That’s where I come in. Thank you, Dr. Patel.” Dr. Moony was a tall, dark-haired woman with a severe face but a very kind voice. “Come into the room, Finn, I’ll show you his x-rays.”

“Do you need me to stay, Finn?” Dan asked, a hand on the back of her arm. Finn shook her head no.

“Thank you so much, Dan. I appreciate the help. Are you heading home when he wakes up, too?”

“It depends. If I’m needed or not. If you guys need to keep me around, I’ll stay.”

“I think -”

“Let me amend that - if Michelle is here and doing her best Marion Crane I will probably stay. You shouldn’t have to deal with her right now. I’ll be up front.”

“Thank you,” Giving his hand a brief squeeze, Findlay turned back to Dr. Moony - Dr. Patel was nowhere to be seen. Apparently, he was a very busy man.

“I’m sorry about that. We’re all a bit shaken up.” She didn’t feel the need to go into detail, and the doctor didn’t ask, nodding sagely as she held open the door.

“You are all taking it quite well, given the circumstances. Here he is, and here are his X-rays. Do you need a minute?”

Finn realized she had gravitated toward the bed, where Brian lay looking quite lifeless, hooked up to a million monitors. She grimaced as she gave his hand a squeeze - it was clammy instead of warm and soft as it usually would be, but his fingers twitched in her grasp as if even unconscious he wanted to comfort the lavender-haired guitarist.

“No, he’s asleep. If the sound of my voice bullshit helps, he’ll get the same benefits from me talking to you,” She said with a laugh, still holding his hand as she turned to look at the X-Rays and Dr. Moony. “Lay it on me, doc. What am I looking at?”

“Logical, I like it. I’ve seen a lot of GSWs in my time here, Ms. O’Shaughnessy, and this is by far one of the less severe ones. He certainly suffered trauma to the bones as one would expect, but I foresee limited nerve damage, and while there was limited organ damage, I do not believe it will inhibit your future from what I’ve read in his file.”

“‘Inhibit our future?’”

“Your partner suffered some minor abrasions to the bladder, the kidney and his spleen, more from bone fragments than bullets. These will heal and are nothing to write home about. He is very lucky. But due to the shape of the human body and the trajectory of the bullet, one of the bone fragments severed his vas deferens and lodged in his left testicle. We have repaired what we can, but while I’m not a fertility counselor, I would say Mr. Haner has effectively been rendered sterile.” The doctor sounded apologetic, like this might be information that hurt her even though (if she was even able to have kids) Brian wasn’t able to reproduce without medical intervention from the get-go.

“Ah. As long as he’s fine I’m not bothered by that. Don’t think he would be either.” The doctor regarded her with narrowed eyes for a moment, as if trying to figure out why the lavender-haired guitarist hadn’t gone into hysterics with the news, but continued.

“My suggestion, based on the severity of the break, is that Mr. Haner undergo a hip replacement of the femur. His pelvic fracture is minor enough that I estimate he could easily undergo this surgery and be out of the hospital in four days or less. The recovery time for a replacement versus a bone is much, much shorter. I anticipate that if you decide to save his hip, he will face an extended recovery period due to his age and lifestyle, and may end up with a limp.”

“Not ideal. Drawbacks with a replacement?”

“He won’t be fully mobile for about six months to a year, depending on his physical therapy. This would also be expected with healing the bone, keep that in mind. He might need a new joint in twenty years depending on his activity level.”

Brian groaned behind her, and the lavender-haired woman turned to take his hand in hers, gripping it probably tighter than she should have.

“Do you need any more information from me? If not, I’ll run out and grab a nurse.”

“Will you be able to talk to him about this when he’s conscious? I can make the decision, but if he’s going to wake up, I’d rather it be his.”

“I can come back around in a few hours before my shift leaves.”

“Thanks, Dr. Moony,”

As she left the room, Findlay perched on the side of the bed beside Brian’s good hip, holding his hand in both of hers as she listened to the monitor beep and the long, slow breaths her partner took. Most days, her life was surreal in a good way, where she couldn’t believe how lucky she was and how she got to this point in her career and love life. Today, it was surreal in the opposite way, where she was struck with disbelief that she was sitting on a hospital bed in Las Vegas, watching her partner come out of anesthesia after surgery on a gunshot wound.

“What is my life?” She murmured quietly, as Brian’s grip tightened on her hand. The warmth was starting to return to his skin, but she couldn’t tell if that was because she was holding it or because he was waking up.

A nurse walked in and found her sitting on the bedside, gazing at the tattooed man.

“Hi, sweetie. How’s he doing?” He asked absently as he began to bustle around to check monitors with the aim of answering his own question.

“I think his professional tap dancing career is over,” She quipped, rubbing an eye with the heel of her hand. “I need to clean up, is it ok if I use that bathroom?”

“Of course! I’m going to bustle around him for a few minutes, and then I’ll have a sense of when he’ll come around.”

Findlay gave Brian’s hand a squeeze and stood, crossing the room to the tiny en suite bathroom - which must have just been there for patient use - to start scrubbing under her nails, up her arms, and even splash a little water on her face. Really, she would have preferred a shower, but now that she was back at Brian’s side she would be damned if she left again.

As she dried off her face and arms, she turned to see the nurse checking one of the machines, punching buttons with a frown of what she hoped was concentration. As he looked up at her, the sandy-haired man’s face softened, and he beckoned to her.

“So when he wakes up - probably within the hour - this is his morphine drip. He’s going to be in pain, but try to keep him from hitting the button unless it’s unbearable because this stuff is bad news. I’m not sure if he ever was a drug user, but as a fan I’ve read the stories. If he’s ever, ever done heroin, he should try to avoid this.” Finn nodded, knowing that Brian had used many, many drugs in his younger years. She hesitated to say he had technically been addicted to any one of them, but the nurse had certainly been right to assume.

“Ok, keep him off the button. Anything else?” The tattooed guitarist perched on the edge of the bed again, looping her fingers through Brian’s again. He was definitely warmer, and his hand twitched more often.

“This is the call button. If you need me for any reason, press it! I mean, reasonable reasons. Press it and if it’s an emergency, shout. Loud. He can’t eat either, by the way, but you can give him water.”

“Thank you so much. What is your name, again?”

“Gene.”

“Findlay. Thank you so much for your help,” With a grin, the tall man left the room, leaving her alone with Brian and the beeps and the breathing. It wasn’t long until the famously unfocused guitarist was texting her brother, speaking out loud to the black-haired man as he slowly regained consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

She talked about when they first met and how big of an asshole she had thought he was before they sat down for those first drinks together. Their first kiss in an alley by a British pub, how hilariously idyllic it had been. She recounted touring with both bands, and when the boys had asked her to fill in for Zacky, how ridiculously excited she had been. His eyelids fluttered as she described how he made her feel the first time he took her to bed, and opened as recounted how incredibly lucky she felt - and still did.

“I feel like sleeping beauty. With compliments,” He murmured, wincing as he shifted. There was a slight slur to his voice, which she attributed to whatever drugs they had used to knock him out for surgery.

“You can have a kiss, too, if you don’t sit up.” She leaned to press her lips against his, nuzzling into his stubbly cheek. “Scared the shit out of me, Brian,”

“Scared the shit out of me, too.” His grip was weak on her hand, his throat hoarse.

“Matt and Brooks got grazed by two other shots, too, Bri,” She informed him, stroking his tattooed bicep. He didn’t seem shocked by the news, just grim. “They are fine. You’re the worst off. How do you feel?”

“Like I got shot in the hip,” He barked a laugh, squeezing her hand tighter. His grasp was still worryingly weak, but that had to be because the man had just come out of surgery “What’d they do to me? When can I go home?”

“Well, you get to make a decision, because you’ve got one more surgery. Apparently, I could decide for you, Mr. ‘I updated my living will to make you my power of attorney and didn’t ever bother to tell you in case of horrible emergency,’”

“Too long to be a funny nickname, do better sweet.” He was still very groggy, every uneven blink of his tired eyes took nearly a lifetime.

“They cut you open to assess the damage, stop the bleeding, pull out some metal.” She gave a brief synopsis of his injuries, noting a wince as she told him about the injury to his junk. “Long story short, your femur is shattered. The doctor recommended a replacement,”

“A hip replacement? Not that old,”

“The top of your femur is so fucked up it would take a very long time to heal, and you could have a limp. If you get a replacement, you’ll be out of here in seven days. But I think you’d have to get it re-replaced every twenty years.” Finn stroked his hair, leaning on the bed next to him, standing on her tiptoes in her unlaced Docs.

“Fuck, I’ll be… sixty.” The guitarist sighed, wincing as he shifted. “Did they give me morphine? I feel groggy as fuck,”

“Yeah, you have a drip if you need it. But I don't think it's on yet. The nurse told me not to let you use it too much,”

“Why?”

“The nurse - being an Avenged fan - reckoned you might have done heroin once or twice,”

“Bastard. It hurts, but I’m ok.” He added for her benefit, gripping her hand tightly. “I love you, Findlay,”

“I love you so much, Brian.” She squeezed his hand and gave him another kiss. “So. Do you need more information about the hip?”

“I could have a limp if I keep it?” Finn nodded. “Replace it. Next,”

“You know this means you’ll need surgery again in twenty years,”

“You said that.” He grimaced again, squeezing her hand. He was obviously in pain, but seemed to know that hitting the morphine would put him out. “Don’t want to risk waking up every morning in pain. Is there anything else they can give me beside morphine?”

“You don’t want it?”

“I didn’t like me on heroin then and I won’t like me now.”

“You don’t need to take enough to get high, just ease the pain.”

“Findlay, when I put my finger on that button, it’s over. I won’t stop.” He breathed deeply through clenched teeth, holding her hand tightly. “Don’t make me do that.”

“Bri, it’s ok. Let me call the nurse.” She reached over to stab the call button. “The guys want to see you while you’re awake,”

“Don’t plan on falling asleep, call ‘em.” When Finn made to dial, he pulled on her fingers weakly. “Wait. Come here for a minute,”

Finn put the phone down on the bedside table, and shifted so she lay next to the dark-haired guitarist, leaving her shoes on the ground as he stroked her shoulder with his IV-laden hand.

“You know, I wasn’t scared when I thought I was going to die,” Brian said to the ceiling, holding her close. His voice was still heavy and slightly slurred, and every now and then he paused as if trying to will himself to continue through the pain. “It was when I remembered you were there, and the guy had a gun. And you were far away from me.”

“It's cute you wanted to protect me?” She took a stab at the right answer and failed. Brian chuckled, good-natured and patient with her as always, even when he was in pain.

“Yes, but also that I thought I wouldn't see you again. Then you were there. And I passed out.” She traced circles on his bare chest above the blanket, her forehead nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “I thought I died, to be honest.”

“And the last thing you saw was my ugly mug?”

“I kinda like that mug, babe. Ok, call the guys. I'm almost done with my sap.” Findlay fired off a text as he clutched her shoulder, holding her to his chest as tightly as he could manage being as weak as he was.

“Try not to get shot any more ok, Bri?” She asked into his shaking chest - and reached up to wipe away his tears. She couldn’t fault him for being emotional,

“I'll dodge with my bionic hip,” His grin was not weak.

“Can I call you T-1000 now? Like, in bed at least.”

“Are they doing my dick too?” He laughed, letting her kiss him again as Nurse Gene reappeared.

“Doc, I'm dying,” Brian sang through a laugh. Finn knew he had been waiting to make that joke since he woke up.

“But no Brompton Cocktail, I see. What's up?” Brian let Finn sit up, managing to sit cross legged beside him on the bed with his hand in her lap.

“Gonna need something that's not an opiate my friend. Can you do that for me? Something lesser.”

“It'll take longer to kick in,”

“I'll snort it,” He said with a wink, and Gene laughed, asking him to refrain from that in his presence as she got a text from Matt.

‘DEFCON 5, Michelle is here and she isn't happy.’

“Oh, fuck me,” She breathed, as Gene left to find Dr Moony for a new scrip for painkillers.

“I can't do that right now, Finn,” Brian’s joking grin was more of a grimace and his eyes were screwed up against the pain. “Distract me.”

“Well, uh, Michelle just got here,” His eyes popped open, wide. He looked like a caged animal to Finn, he would have bolted if he could have.

“Where is she?”

“I don't know babe, I was going to call Matt.”

“Call Zacky. She's going to be yelling at Matt. No, wait, call Johnny. Zacky’ll be the one yelling back.” Finn but back a chuckle at the vision as she found Johnny’s contact in her phone. She had only met the woman once and only for a few minutes, but she had been vicious. Brian shifted beside her, reaching up to stretch an arm behind his head as Dr. Moony walked in with Gene.

“Ms. O’Shaughnessy, Mr. Haner. How are we feeling?” Brian raised an eyebrow at her, pointedly. “Not great, I get it. Ok. So no morphine. I think we could give you an oral painkiller, but a very low dose. We’ll want to be able to perform surgery tomorrow - be it a replacement or a repair.” She wrote something down on a pad and handed it to Gene, who rushed out of the room again.

“Replacement.” Brian managed through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowed but not quite shut with pain. Johnny’s call went to voicemail, so she texted him instead, asking what the hell was up.

“That’s probably for the best, Mr. Haner. We should aim to have you in surgery again tomorrow morning.” She glanced over her shoulder as Gene came back into the room with a bottle full of little pills. “That was quick, Gene,”

“He hasn’t had any painkillers.” Gene explained his speed, giving Brian a pill with a small cup of water. “This should kick in pretty quickly, I hope. But it’s like ibuprofen light, so it’s only going to take the edge off,”

“Good because I’m starting to consider the fucking morphine. Can you unhook that?” Her usually spiky-haired guitarist asked, running his hands through his hair. She saw him tug a little harder at the roots than normal, as if trying to distract himself from the obvious pain in his hip.

Gene was just about to say something as he began to work on unhooking the morphine from Brian’s IV, but the door burst open and a blond whirlwind screamed into the room. Dr. Moony barely got out of the way in time when Michelle Haner - she had never changed her name back - started howling.


	5. Chapter 5

Brian’s ex wife was haranguing about Finn - “that slut” - being in the room with Brian - who she still called her husband, even after more than a decade. In the hallway, she could hear Matt growling at his wife and Val’s higher-pitched response, kind of a heated whisper. Dr. Moony stood in the corner, her arms crossed and her scowl deepening. Finn could feel her own grow as she stared flatly at the woman, looking poignantly at Brian every so often. Gene was dutifully removing the morphine from Brian’s IV as the shouting happened around him, his motions calm and practiced. The guitarist leaned his head back against the bed, a hand over his eyes as if that would help block out the tirade.

“What are you doing? Why are you taking his drugs? He’s in pain, don’t you see? Did you decide he didn’t need painkillers, you witch?” Michelle shouted at Findlay now, who gripped her partner’s hand tightly in both of hers. She took the verbal abuse for about a minute in silence, one eyebrow raised, until her usually long fuse snapped under the weight of everything that had happened that day.

“Do you want to know something, Michelle? Brian just got shot. Matt was shot. Brooks was shot. I just had to sit on the side of the stage and watch my partner get shot, hold him in my arms as he bled, not knowing if he’d survive. Was denied coming in the ambulance with him into the hospital, didn’t get to see him until he went into surgery. I didn’t even know if he was going to live for a solid three hours.” Her tone was quiet and level, but just loud enough that the woman had stopped shouting and stood staring at Findlay with her mouth slightly open. Matt and Valary had stopped talking outside the door, and the lavender-haired guitarist could see Brooks, Dan Johnny and Zacky with their heads in the door almost Scooby-Doo style with Brian Senior.

“So I would appreciate it if you would calm the fuck down, because we don’t need any more fucking drama. If you’re going to stay - which I assume you are, because it’s a four fucking hour drive from Huntington - you’re going to stay in silence. Or I will have you removed. Got it?”

“How fucking dare you,” Michelle hissed after a moment of silence. “That’s my husb -”

“Was your husband, Michelle. Was. Please, honey, we’re all adults here and it’s not a fucking soap opera.” Findlay looked over at Dr. Moony, whose frown almost seemed to be one of approval at the lavender-haired woman, who felt about ninety feet tall where she sat on the corner of Brian’s bed, her nails digging small crescents into his tattooed palm.

As Dr. Moony began to go over the details of Brian’s condition, Finn beckoned the guys in the doorway into the room as Gene started to shuffle by with the bits of the morphine drip in his hands. She finally relaxed her hands on Brian’s, and he reached with his IV-laden right hand to pat her knee where it fell near his chest, beckoning her to him for a whispered conversation while everyone was shuffling around and enraptured by Dr. Moony.

“When I get my new hip I’m gonna -” He was cut off by her giggles, staring at her in disbelief as she rebuffed his advance. Findlay murmured at him to repeat the beginning of his statement to himself, and soon he was laughing too, as Dr. Moony finished her debrief.

“Anything you care to share with the class, son?” Brian Senior asked, as Dr. Moony also left the thoroughly crowded room.

“Well, dad, I just tried to say something dirty to my partner and she reminded me that I’m old.”

“‘When I get my new hip…’” Finn quoted, staring at the ceiling as she held her sides.

“I’m glad you are all in such good spirits,” Senior began, glaring at Findlay for a moment before he regarded his son. “Brian, you are aware you were just shot on stage, right? And two of your band members were shot?”

“Acutely, thanks dad. Are you aware I have just taken my first painkiller and I’m honestly not in the mood to be fathered right now?” Findlay gripped his hand tightly, making as if to stand to get out of his way. She hadn’t seen him so heated in a long time - though she knew it was because of the pain, it wasn’t any easier to witness her usually calm, collected partner when he was so angry. He pressed his arm into her leg, willing her to stay.

Michelle had sat herself in the only chair in the room, dragging it to where she could stare at her ex-husband and his partner. Findlay was acutely aware of her dark eyes on her side, as if taking in her tattoos, her annoying proximity to the man she apparently still considered hers.

“Dan, have we heard anything from the cops? At all?” She asked, to keep herself from laughing at the absurdity of it all. The manager seemed shocked to have been called upon from where he was hanging out by the door. He looked over his shoulder as if ready to beat a hasty retreat to find another Dan to be called upon.

“Mira is on the phone with them, I think. They will probably need statements.”

“Joy of joys,” Johnny said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Brian, I’m fucking glad you’re ok, man.”

“I mean, I’ll live. I’d say you should peek under the covers but I don’t want you to be intimidated by my awesome girth,”

Michelle snorted, and the group shot her a collective glare, even the man immobilized in the bed.

“Silence.” Finn reminded sternly, her eyes hard. Her temper was abnormally short - fed by Brian’s pain, his earlier snap and Michelle’s presence. Brian squeezed her fingers, as Zacky and Johnny came around the bed to put their hands on her back and his shoulder, respectively.

“You sure you’re ok, Brian?” Johnny asked, his hand on his shoulder and her arm. Zacky reached for his wrist in her lap - she wasn’t bothered by the lack of personal space after knowing the men for so long.

“I’ve got my woman, Finn will take care of me.” Brian smiled up at the small guitarist, who reached for Johnny’s hand with one of hers, unwilling to let go of Brian’s hand with her other to search out Zacky’s.

“But who’s going to take care of Finby while you’re under?”

“I’m gonna -” The lavender-haired guitarist barely got to start her sentence.

“Findlay, I know what it’s like to sit in the hospital alone, waiting.” Johnny said, holding her shoulder hard in his calloused hand. “I’ll stay with you. Me and Senior, right pops?”

“Me too,” Zacky added. It was fitting, because the pair were the only ones who hadn’t been shot, so it seemed appropriate, but Finn noticed Brian’s scowl.

“Only if you really must. I think you need to be with your wives, and the babies.”

“They’re not babies any more, Finn,” Johnny’s reply was sarcastic as she moved her hand to squeeze Zacky’s. It was obvious they didn’t want to leave her alone with Michelle.

“Fuck you, Johnny. The point still stands.” She murmured, as Matt and Brian Senior came around the other side of the bed.

“Son, are you ok?” Why Brian Senior insisted on calling his grown-ass son ‘son’ she would never fathom, but the lavender-haired guitarist looked to her partner just in time to catch his grimace.

“I don’t know, dad, I just got shot, I’m going to have a hip replacement, and my ex is here shouting at my partner. How would you be?” He was shockingly articulate for someone in as much pain as he had to be. Finn lowered her hand to grasp his in both of hers again, leaving the bassist and the guitarist standing behind her. “I want to know why, but apparently that’s not happening.”

“Brian, we’d like to post something to the social to make sure the fans know everyone’s ok. Is that ok?” Dan asked, phone in hand. Finn frowned as her lover looked to her for advice.

“It’s not a bad idea, Bri. Do you want me to get off the bed?” She asked, remembering her clothes were still stained with his blood from the stage and she sat in her socks.

“No, you stay. We should, though, I don’t want my ladies to worry,” He joked, squeezing her hands in his. “Right, Finn?”

“Yes, sir,” She grinned at the man, leaning to kiss his stubbly cheek. “Ok, Dan, what do you want us to do?”

“Devil horns, everyone. One hand each. Don’t block his face now, Brooks, bring your hand down. Johnny, switch with Brooks actually, you’re too short to be behind Finn. Ok…” Dan talked them into the perfect picture, and snapped several before he handed the phone back to Mira, so she could post something to the A7X page.


	6. Chapter 6

“You guys should get something to eat,” Brian murmured to the trio who stayed in his room. Finn had managed to convince Johnny and Zacky to go home, leaving her with Brian Senior and Michelle, who still refused to leave for no discernable reason. “You don’t need to go on hunger strike because of me,”

“I don’t want to torture you, son,” Senior commented from his post in a chair next to Michelle. He had dragged another chair into the room from the hall.

“So eat in the hall. Seriously, guys, order something.” Finn poured Brian a cup of water from a bottle next to the bed, and passed it to his shaky hand. They had tilted the bed up so he sat up a little more, and was able to drink water.

“Do you want anything, Finn?”

Twenty minutes later, she sat in the hallway with Senior. Brian had said he wanted to talk to Michelle, so the three were eating in shifts.

“So you and my son...” Brian Senior asked, as Findlay took a bite of her caesar wrap.

“You really don’t like me much, do you?” In her experience with his family - brief as it was - fell into two camps, either loving Michelle or loving her. It seemed Senior fell into the first camp. She should have spent more time getting to know them over the years, she mused, but honestly her schedule and Brian’s never really clicked - and when it did, the pair were much more interested in spending time together than with anyone else.

“I can’t say I’m supportive of the… agreement you have.” Finn raised an eyebrow, wondering how Brian’s father knew about their agreement. “I don’t know much, Findlay, just that it sounds an awful lot like you cheat on each other a lot.”

“Thanks, Brian, I appreciate the support and understanding.” She regretted the quip as soon as it came out of her mouth, distracting herself with another bite of her dinner.

“Just being honest. I know he loves you, Finn. I don’t understand his choices, but that doesn’t mean I don’t support him.”

“It works for us. Our lives are so crazy that we don’t get to be together all the time. If we didn’t agree like we do, it would be cheating, and we wouldn’t be together. I know I don’t have to explain that neither of us are great at monogamy,” Finn wasn’t sure why she was talking to Brian’s father about their sex life, like it really mattered or that he was even interested in the extramarital transgressions of his son. She was starting to get the feeling that Brian Senior had that same mind-reading skills that his son had.

“I’m of the opinion that you tough it out, Findlay. Adults make sacrifices.”

“We’ve made sacrifices for each other, Brian. But we had our careers before we had each other. I don’t think I have to explain that to you.” She sighed, crunching up the paper from her wrap and throwing it into the nearby trashcan, murmuring “Kobe” as it bounced off the rim and into the trash. She stood with a sigh, tucking her hair behind her shoulder. “I’m going back in.”

“Findlay,” Brian began, and she turned back to her partner’s father, her arms crossed. “My son and I are too old to argue over women any more. You’re right, it’s not my place to comment on what you do. You make Brian happy, that’s what matters to me. You’re here, you support him. That’s what’s important.”

“Thanks, Brian. I appreciate it.” She smiled at the man, one hand on the door. For some reason, she knocked like she actually cared before she walked in, and found Brian murmuring to his crying ex wife. Finn stopped in the doorway, staring at them both with wide eyes. Normally, she wouldn’t have been jealous of anything Brian might say to another woman, but this was his ex wife. He had, on some level, felt close enough to her to propose to and marry her.

“Come in, Finn, we’re done,” His face was a thundercloud, angry as he had seen him recently. It took a lot for his temper to spark - Brian was one of the most calm and collected men she had ever met - but if anyone could set him off, it seemed to be Michelle. “Misha, you understand, right?”

The blonde didn’t say anything, simply nodded as she scrubbed her cheeks with her palms, brushing past Finn on her way out to Brian Senior and the food.

“What did you say to her?” Finn asked, watching his ex walk past before she turned her attention back to her angry partner. When he didn’t answer, she checked the time on her phone at his bedside and prepared a painkiller and a small glass of water for him.

“I don’t know how you’re doing this with, like, ibuprofen, babe,” She muttered as she offered him the little cup and the pill, finally looking him in the face. His eyes were screwed shut and he had his iv-occupied palm over them, rubbing with his fingers. “Brian, are you ok?”

“Overwhelmed,” He said, using her line for once as he reached for the pill and the water, his fingers brushing hers as he murmured his thanks.

“I’ve been waiting for that, baby.” She murmured, taking the cup from him but wrapping her fingers around his, drawing his fingertips to her lips to kiss them. He certainly deserved to be overwhelmed after the day he had - shot at four, in surgery by five, waiting for a second surgery, getting shouted at by his ex… Finn started to voice this thought, but he stopped her with a small shake of his head.

“Finn, it’s not that. I mean, it is but it’s not because I got shot or because Michelle is always around to make life miserable. I’m… reprioritizing,” Finn said nothing, holding on to his extended wrist with both of her tattooed hands, thumbs stroking his palm and an eyebrow raised. One word set her teeth on edge, especially after he had been speaking to Michelle. What was he reprioritizing? Their relationship? It was irrational, she knew, and he must have too by the look on her face. “Not like that, sweet. Don’t think that,”

She didn’t ask the silent question, but perched on the side of the bed carefully, knowing his shredded hip was just below where she sat. He leaned back against the bed, his chin tilted up to the ceiling and his eyes closed.

“Remember, a long time ago, when I told you I’d never marry you? No interest, don’t see the point?” His chocolatey-brown eyes were closed as he spoke to her, but he faced her. “Does commitment-phobe you still like that?”

“Commitment-phobe me wants to know what you’re asking, Bri,” She moved his hand into her lap, holding him gently, mindful of the IV.

“I’m not asking anything, I’m curious. Blame it on the pain,”

“I don’t know, Brian. Seems like it might just be trying to change a good thing,”

“No, that wouldn’t change. I was thinking from a legal sense, sweet thing.” He opened his eyes, looking at the lithe guitarist at his side, his brows heavy.

“And from a ceremonial sense, huh babe? Feeling a little sentimental?”

“I’m a sap, Finn, you tell me that all the time.”

“If you asked, I wouldn’t say no. You’re part of me, Bri. I can’t imagine spending my life without you.” She leaned to kiss his cheek, feeling his dark eyelashes shut against her skin. “I love you,” The stormy-eyed guitarist breathed into his ear, trying to wrap her arms around him as best she could.

“I love you too, Finby.” His voice was a breath against her skin, sending goosebumps across her cheek. “Do you want to know what Michelle and I talked about?” He asked, as she settled her nose into his tattooed shoulder with a small nod. In any other situation, she would never have admitted to being so nosey, but Brian was Brian and knew her better than that.

“I told he she couldn’t keep holding the resentment. She needed to let it go. Let me go. She didn’t like that, but we’d never talked about it, I guess. Not after… everything.” Findlay pressed her lips into his skin, holding him tightly as she dared. “Finn, I’m not a china doll. There’s one part of me that hurts.” She gripped him tighter, silently.

“I hope she gets it this time,” He murmured, finally, shifting beside her. “Finby, come to the other side. Come take a nap with me, sweet,”

“You won’t sleep, and I can’t sleep if you don’t,”

“Course you will. You’ve got Brian eyes, my love. Come here.” Reluctantly, and with a little chuckle at his self-deprecating jab, Finn climbed off the bed and moved to the other side, pulling a blanket off the pile on the bureau that Gene had left for them. One was draped over the chair Michelle had been sitting in. She piled part of it under and above Brian’s armpit, making a little pillow for herself before she crawled next to him, resting her head next to his.

“Come on sweet thing. Let me hold you. I’ll tell you a story, and you can go to sleep.”

As much as she fought it, as he told his version of how they met, what he felt for the tiny guitarist when he saw her on stage the first time, how he thought she was the most beautiful little thing he had ever laid eyes on. How he had to convince himself he wasn’t nervous about talking to her that night at the pub. As he talked about that first night, how shocked she had been that he wouldn’t sleep with her but how glad he was that he hadn’t, she slipped under.


	7. Chapter 7

The lavender-haired singer awoke to murmurs, and it took her a moment to realize the Brians were having a hushed discussion next to her. She didn’t flutter her eyelids, only shifted slightly to grab more of the blanket to tuck under her chin, intending to go back to sleep rather than eavesdrop. Gently, Brian pulled the blanket back away from her - she had probably just yanked half of it off of him in her exhausted haze - directing his father to get another blanket off the pile to put on her as he let her take his hand to tuck under her chin instead.

Her partner’s father tucked the blanket around her smaller frame tenderly, much more so than she would have expected out of the man after their earlier conversation. He massaged her arm and almost put her to sleep again - the lithe guitarist barely managed to keep herself awake to eavesdrop. She knew Brian was aware she wasn’t actually asleep, so anything he would say, he meant for her to hear. He reinforced her belief by pinching the soft part of her arm under the blanket gently, as if to keep her awake.

“I don’t know, Brian. She’s a lovely girl. But she lives in your world,” She heard Senior swallow hard, felt her lover tense beneath her. “I’ve always thought you needed someone outside to balance you out.”

“I still don’t know why you get a say, dad,”

“Because you’re one divorce in, son. I’d hate to see you have another.”

“Who says Finn and I will marry?” He squeezed her fingers imperceptibly tighter, his arm beneath her head curling around her back. “What does it matter? We’ve been living together for five years.”

“How long were you with her before you made her an honest woman?” He must have been referring to Michelle, Finn mused as she tightened her grip on Brian’s hand.

“We never lived together, Chief. We never even stayed together for more than a year. I won’t say I made a mistake. But we weren’t ready. We never talked about what we wanted in life. Findlay knows. She’s told me what she wants. And she would never do something just for the status of it.”

“Calm down, son. I don’t hate her. I hate that agreement you have.” He paused for a moment - it sounded like he took a sip of water.

“I don’t think you need to, dad. That’s between she and I. And she… Gets it, Brian.” It was rare for the son to call his father by their shared name - usually, it escalated to Senior, but that was about it, so apparently he was heated. “Finn tours. She records. She plays on a level I can’t even imagine. She brings my playing up, every time she gives me a substitution in a song I take it.”

“I told her, and I’ll tell you, Brian. I don’t disapprove of you together. I don’t understand why you cheat on each other.”

“It’s not fucking cheating, dad. I’m happy, she’s happy, let us be.” The statement seemed to end the conversation, as both men fell silent. Brian stroked Findlay’s hair gently, and tucked the blanket under her chin. “Surgery at six, what time is it?” She felt him shift as if reaching for his phone on the bedside table.

“It’s just after four. I should try to get some rest. You should, too.”

“Why? They’re about to put me under anyway,” He shifted under her, moving his arm slightly like he did whenever it was falling asleep under the weight of her head. After a few moments, she could hear Senior’s breathing even out. He must have been exhausted, she was too.

“Hey baby, you can stop pretending you’re asleep,” There was a laugh in his voice as she sat up, looking down at the guitarist as she reached to tousle his deflated, grown-in mohawk.

“You look tired, Bri, you sure you don’t want to sleep?” She touched the deep circles under his eyes - so much darker than usual.

“Of course I’m tired. I got shot yesterday. Thanks, Finn,” Normally, she would have snapped back at the man, but tried to be patient. He deserved her patience, today.

“Sorry, Bri, I love you.” His fingers caught hers and he stared up at her, stroking her palm with his thumb. “I wonder how long you’ll be under, you come out of anesthesia so well,”

He grinned at her, as if accepting the compliment, kissing her fingers.

“Hopefully not long. But I think you should hop back to the hotel while I’m out. Get yourself cleaned up.” Finn raised an eyebrow, concerned that he had just called her smelly. “No, you’re not a mess, but I think it’ll be the last opportunity for you for a while. I know you, you won’t leave once I’m awake. Take Michelle with you, and bring back our shit.”

“Take Michelle, huh?” Finn asked, eyebrow climbing. “You didn’t decide to take the morphine while I was out, right? She hates me,”

“I know that. She thinks she hates you. I think you’d get along.”

“I’ll do it if you want me to.” Finn said with a sigh, as he reached to put a palm on her cheek, pulling her lips to his. His IV-laden hand traveled down her back, holding her to his side. As she shifted into the kiss, she accidentally kneed him in the balls.

“Ah, fuck me,” Brian swore and moved his hands to cover his crotch - all he could do with his hip stabilized to the bed - as she apologized profusely, stroking his hair gently. “God those are still so tender,”

“Shocking. It’s not even like they were just cut open,” She murmured, caressing his stubbly cheek. “I’m so, so sorry babe,”

“It’s ok, I’m fine,” He held a hand out to stop her apologizing, the other over his junk. “God what I wouldn’t give for a cigarette,” He murmured, shifting beside her as she sat up with her legs crossed indian-style and her back to the bars of the bed.

“I wish I could sneak you outside or something,” She murmured, stroking his palm in her lap. “Can you tough it out for a few more hours?”

“Mmm, potentially, anything you can do to help with that?” His eyes danced with the joke, holding her fingers tight in his.

“Don’t get yourself too worked up, boy, not with your father and your ex in the room,” She murmured darkly, with a wink and a smirk.

“You’re beautiful, I don’t tell you that enough,”

“You tell me every day, Bri,” Finn giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear and out of her face as her partner rubbed her bare knee. His smile was slow, tired.

“I’m feeling sentimental. Blame it on the near-death experience. Speaking of sentimentality, aren’t you supposed to be in Boston?”

“Was supposed to. Had to cancel. I thought it might be a little important for me to be here with you.”

“I appreciate that you’d cancel a show for me.” He patted the bed, willing her to lay back down. She did as she was told, resting on her stomach with her hip partially on his good hip, her chin propped on her hand.

“Not even a question, Bri.” She kissed his bare shoulder, nuzzling her nose into the warm skin under his collarbone. “And, apparently, as your designee, it wouldn’t have been easy to make decisions for you on a five hour plane ride,”

“Sorry I never told you. I meant to.”

“Well now I feel pressured to change mine,” The guitarist sighed, closing her eyes against his skin. “Though, it would make sense,”

“You do whatever you want, Finn. I’m not pressuring you, I just…” He paused as if searching for the words he wanted. “I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time. It was Michelle.”

“When did you change it?”

“A few years ago, actually. After you guys got in that bus crash,” Finn nodded into his chest, eyes closed. “Are you going to fall asleep again?”

“No,” She mumbled the lie, her lips heavy on his skin. “I’m bright and fresh as a daisy,”

“Yeah, right. Let me hold you, go back to sleep. They’re probably coming for me in an hour. Maybe I’ll get a nap in,”

She thought she wished him luck as she drifted off again in his arms, holding his hand in both of hers.


	8. Chapter 8

“Hey Finby, sweet, the doctors are here,” Brian’s deep Cali accent called the lavender-haired woman back to the land of the living. Embarrassed that she had fallen asleep, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. “Careful, Finn,”

As she blinked moisture back into her contacts, she remembered how she had accidentally had kneed him just hours earlier, and sat up a little more slowly and carefully to not repeat her performance. Dr. Moony stood at the foot of the bed with a few nurses - Gene must have rotated out off his shift, because he wasn’t there.

“I would have woken you up, but I passed out,” She smiled at Brian and his tousled black hair, holding his hand even as she climbed off the bed. Finn stepped into her unlaced Docs as the nurses began to bustle around, uninhibited by her presence on the bed.

“I really meant to be up,” Finn murmured to no one in particular, noting that Brian Senior and Michelle were standing by the door.

“Brian, you’re going to start to go under soon. We need an hour for prep, two for the surgery, and probably another hour after for recovery. I think we cleaned up the wound enough when we first went in that we won’t need any additional time.”

“Finn has strict orders to go to the hotel while I’m under, you and Michelle. No buts, either of you,” Brian wagged a finger as both of the women in question opened their mouths to protest. “I don’t need all of you to stay the whole time. Dad will be here. Finn, you take my phone. Give me a kiss before they put this thing on my face,”

Slightly stunned by the rapid-fire orders, Finn leaned in to press her lips to his, a hand on the side of his face.

“I love you, Bri,”

“I’ll see you in a few hours, babe, with my new hip!” The guitarist shook her head at his constant optimism, squeezing his hand before she stepped away from the bed.

The lavender-haired guitarist released Brian’s hand as the nurses closed in. Suddenly, she felt more nervous about the surgery than she had been previously. It was probably because of the lack of contact and Brian’s easy way. Even when he was nervous the man radiated a calm, if arrogant, satisfaction.

“Good luck, old man!” Brian Senior called to his son, bumping fists with him.

“He’ll be fine,” Michelle murmured, her arms crossed over her chest. “He wants us to go to the hotel together?”

“Seems like it. He’ll know if we don’t, I’m sure.”

“Not sure how, but he would.” Michelle agreed, glowering down the hall at the retreating team of doctors. “Do you want me to call a car?”

“Yeah, I’m going to text the guys to let them know he’s going under.”

“Which hotel?”

“The D down by Fremont. Couldn’t stop giggling about that,” She admitted, as the blonde called an uber for them. “Are you ok by yourself, Brian?” She asked her partner’s dad as Brian and his surgery team turned the corner out of sight.

“I'll be fine. I'll take a dad nap. I'll call Brian's cell if anything comes up,”

“I was going to turn it off, can I give you my number instead?”

After an exchange of digits and a quick cigarette, Finn and Michelle climbed into a black car and headed toward the hotel in silence. Actually, neither spoke until they were in the hotel room she and Brian shared.

“Man he's a pig when he's on tour,” Michelle breathed, observing the wreckage that was the contents of both of their suitcases, strewn across the room.

“Yeah, and I'm kind of a pig all the time. Mr. Meticulous gets annoyed.” Finn picked her way to her suitcase on the window seat, kicking aside his clothes toward his bag and hers in a small pile in front of her.

“Mind if I hop in the shower first? It's not a wash day, so I'll be quick.” Finn gave her the thumbs up as she rooted through her suitcase, searching for a specific t-shirt before she gave up and grabbed one of Brian's. The low v neck would be both comfortable and a little provocative on the tiny woman - she knew from experience that nothing drove her partner crazy like a little lace bralette peeking from the neck of one of his shirts.

As she began to pick up the clothes from the floor to fold and put away, Finn chuckled at how willing she was to tease the truly out-of-commission guitarist.

“It's all you,” Michelle stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, reaching for her duffel on the bedside. With a smile, Finn moved past the blonde toward the shower.

“It is wash day for me, so I'll be a few minutes. Knock if you need anything.”

She was halfway through using her conditioner and shaving her legs - womanhood was all about multitasking - when Michelle called through the door, asking if she could come in.

“Sorry, the lighting in there is just so so bad.”

“It's such a Vegas hotel room. You can't hardly tell what time of day it is in here.” Finn commented through the curtain, searching for missed spots on her legs.

“You're pretty generous, you know,”

“Just good at sharing. I think it's a twin thing, we lived together for almost thirty years.”

“I didn't know you were a twin,”

For a moment, the lavender-haired guitarist considered making a crass joke about Brian's “type” obviously being small twins, but chose not to. Too soon.

“That's fucking funny though, don't let the man tell you he doesn't have a type,” Michelle's laugh was genuine - Finn couldn't find any bitterness in it and so laughed along with the blond.

“I mean, I wasn't going to say it but… it can't be a twin fantasy thing though, Tor and I are fraternal.”

“I'm still going to laugh about it. The man is insufferable.”

“That he is. I can never win arguments with him anyway - I get all worked up and he stays so fucking calm.” The guitarist sighed as she squeezed moisture out of her hair, reaching for a towel.

“But not in a mean way. Though I'll admit Syn is mean.”

“That's where he gets it all out, I think. Let me slip past to change,” Finn wrapped her dripping purple hair in a white towel, drying off as best she could before she moved into the bedroom, leaving the bathroom door slightly ajar so she could still head Michelle talk if she chose to. “Brian can be too kind. It's infuriating.”

“Did he tell you what we talked about?” The aside was way too casual in Finn’s opinion. She shook her head no before she called out to say they really hadn’t gone into detail, realizing Michelle couldn't see her. Though she and Brian had certainly discussed it, she didn’t really feel like trying to explain that to Misha.

“He told me this wasn't what he wanted for me. Chasing after him, the instability. No time for a family even if we could have one.”

“That sounds like Brian. Worrying about everyone but himself, even from his hospital bed.” Finn popped her head through the shirt, flopping a towel over her shoulders to protect it from her damp hair. She realized that Michelle was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, her arms crossed as she leaned on the jamb.

“Do you hate me?” The blonde asked quietly as Findlay tied the shirt around her waist in a small knot to keep it from swallowing her tiny frame.

“Why would I hate you?” Finn looked at the woman wide-eyed and in wonder as she squeezed as much moisture out of her hair as she could.

“I haven’t exactly been kind,” She sighed, as Finn looped around her to put on makeup in the bathroom mirror. She kept it light - which meant she filled in her light eyebrows, swiped mascara over her eyelashes, and performed the habitual flick of a small cat eye - knowing that she was probably going to spend the next three days in a hospital room with a man who could care less if she had a full face on or not.

“I’m not going to argue, but that doesn’t exactly constitute hatred in my book,” Finn murmured, stuffing her makeup and toiletries back into their black-and-white striped bag before getting a start on refilling Brian’s dopp kit.

“I don’t know what to do with my life any more, I spent the last ten years of it plotting to get him back.” The lavender-haired guitarist paused, thinking of how enormously sad that statement was, Brian’s toothpaste in hand. “Yeah, well, imagine how silly I feel,”

“He still loves you, Michelle. I think he’s always been upset about how things ended. He doesn’t talk about it much.” It went without saying to the other woman, but if Brian didn’t talk about something, it meant he was upset about it.

“How much do you know? About the end, I mean.”

“It’s been sketched out in broad strokes once. I don’t care to pry.” With her makeup bag and Brian’s dopp in hand, she moved past Michelle and into the bedroom to drop each in their respective bags.

“He said he wanted me to have the things I couldn’t have with him. The husband, the kids, the picket fence.” She sat on the edge of the tousled bed with a sigh. Finn kept silent, wondering at how Brian could care so deeply for her after she had treated him so poorly for so long, and at the fact that something that had been ingrained in the woman’s mind for over a decade - that she hated Finn and needed Brian back - could… change. In one conversation. He truly was a wonder.

“I’ve wasted so much time hating him for being selfish when I was the one being selfish,” The lithe guitarist began to fold Brian’s shirts to pack into his bag as the other woman spoke, considering what to say. She set aside a set of clothes for the guitarist to wear when he got out of the hospital, picking one of her favorite shirts of his - a super soft, deep v-neck.

“Priorities change. People change.” Finn managed finally, when it became clear that Michelle was looking for some sort of answer. “You guys were really young.”

“I thought we’d grow together. We grew apart.”

“And that’s ok,” The lavender-haired woman put the last article of clothing into Brian’s suitcase and zipped it, tucking the change of clothes she had packed him into the front pocket. The motions helped distract her from the super awkward conversation she was having with her partner’s ex-wife. How did Brian know this was how the hotel visit was going to go?

“I’m sorry I’ve treated you poorly,” Michelle leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Finn suppressed a wince, thinking of what she and her partner had gotten up to on that bed the night before, and turned to her own suitcase, packing it with the same care she had Brian’s.

“Honestly, you haven’t really treated me at all, which is fine.” Finn’s mind immediately hopped back to their not-so-nice exchange at Matt and Val’s when the pair had first met, when Michelle had sworn at her in front of the Sanders children for sleeping with her husband - who had been her ex for a while at that point. “I’m happy for a restart, though, if that makes life easier.”

“You two are a good fit, you know,” The other woman murmured, after a few minutes of silence. “You must really love him to put up with him.”

“He puts up with me, more like.” Findlay tousled her waist-length locks, willing them to dry faster before she zipped her suitcase shut. “So where do we go from here, Michelle?”

“Back to the hospital? I’ll help with the bags,”

“No, I meant you and I. I don’t have many female friends, so I’m sorry if I’m too direct or whatever. But I’d like to try.”

“To be friends?”

“I just want you to know I’m open to it. I don’t shut people out of my life.” Findlay pulled her phone charger out of the wall, wrapping it to put into one of the pockets of her small backpack purse. On the other side of the bed she found Brian’s, stashing it in a different pocket so they didn’t get tangled. She still had to collect his laptop from the desk, but otherwise the room was cleared. Years of practice.

“Do you want to go back to the hospital?”

“Not sure what else there is to do,” Finn murmured, shutting down Brian’s Mac before she shoved it into his backpack with his copy of Infinite Jest. The man had been reading the book since she gave it to him months ago and still hadn’t finished it, she noted with a smile. Or maybe he was just carrying it around to make her happy.

“We could grab a drink. Bring Senior back a sandwich.”

The stormy-eyed guitarist paused, looking at Michelle as she gripped Brian’s backpack at the top in both hands, considering.

“You know what, why not? We just gotta bring all this shit with us.”


	9. Chapter 9

Three hours later the pair were handing Brian Senior a sandwich and a coke, giggling as he eyed them suspiciously.

“I don’t know what you two have been up to, but I think my son has just dug himself an early grave.”

“Why would you think that?” Findlay asked innocently, focusing very hard on not tripping as she walked into Brian’s still-empty room, finding three chairs instead of two against the wall. She set her suitcase down against the far wall, on the other side of the chairs, and went for water. Brian would be wheeled out soon, and while he was definitely still going to be under, she didn’t want to still be tipsy when he came out of surgery.

“Old man’s intuition,” He followed the pair in as they plopped down on the chairs - Finn spread a blanket over her lap, offering the other woman the trailing edge. Neither cared to watch Senior’s eyebrows rise as Finn put her head on Michelle’s shoulder and the blonde-haired woman propped her head on Finn’s purple hair, and the pair dozed off. Two drinks and a relatively sleepless and stressful night could do that to a woman.

Findlay’s eyes fluttered open as the doctors brought Brian back into the room, sitting up from under his ex’s head to stand on still slightly-wobbly knees. At least she felt less drunk. She had the mental capacity to berate herself for being drunk in the first place, which was a good sign.

“How did it go?”

“He did great. He has a new hip. We’ll get him walking tomorrow morning. In the meantime, he needs lots of rest. Try not to keep him awake too long.” Dr. Moony provided, watching as Finn took his hand in hers, stroking the soft underside of his wrist with her calloused fingers. “And so do you, by the looks of it. Are you all staying?”

“No, I think we’ll head back to Huntington now that he’s out of the woods,”

“I wouldn’t say he’s completely out of the woods, Mr. Haner. As with any surgery, there can be complications.” Dr. Moony sighed, accepting a new set of x-rays from another doctor - probably a student, Finn presumed - to place next to the old on the light box. “But, we’ll have to discuss his care with his primary caregiver and him tomorrow.”

“So you guys can go home if you want to,” Findlay didn’t take her eyes off her partner as he started to shift, his eyelids seeming to struggle open.

“We can have a cot brought in for you, Ms. O'Shaughnessy,” Nurse Gene was back at it again, and Finn fixed him with a little smile.

“Thanks, Gene. I’d appreciate that.”

She managed to persuade the pair to go back to Huntington, to the rest of the guys and Brian’s family. It really wasn’t necessary to make them hang around while Brian worked to get discharged - and he wouldn’t have wanted them to stay, either. They waited until he woke up to say their goodbyes and left.

“And then there were two,” She murmured, stroking his palm gently as he dozed. The doctors had shown her his hip while he was asleep, and it looked a mess. The incision was about eight inches long, with staples. The doctors were able to manage Brian's pain as they would any former addicts, and he was in good spirits when he was awake.

The second day, he walked. Not far, but more than he should have been able to unaided. The pair made it up and down the hall before he had to take a nap, and twice after the nap. The doctors decided he could finally have his catheter removed, and the man complained about the “irreparable” damage done to his dick. As soon as she could, she helped him walk out to sneak a cigarette, and giggled as Brian learned the true joy of wearing a “dress” in the heat. It was almost business as usual when the pair left the hospital for the airplane - but for the walker.

“Can I bedazzle that?” Findlay asked as she walked next to him on the tarmac, pulling all of their shit in a train behind her - her roller board attached to his, wearing both of their backpacks. “You owe me for making me your caddy,”

“I'll consider it. Only flames though, no rhinestones or any of that shit.”

“I was thinking My Little Pony and pink. Super manly.”

“Findlay, I can't just go telling everyone about my Brony status, ok?” He joked, reaching to brush his fingers across her shoulder, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to Avenged’s private jet. Finn stared up into the jet.

“Never been on one of these before. Am I supposed to carry you over the threshold?” The lavender-haired woman quipped, catching his fingers in hers. “Seriously, though, how do we get you up the stairs, babe?”

“Slowly. With help.” He nodded up the steps to where the captains stood, waving out the big door. The dweeb of a guitarist waved up at the pair with a big grin as the Captains began to climb down. “Captain Aren, Captain Martin, thanks for the help!”

She watched as the captains helped the ailing guitarist up the stairs, and came back down to help her with the bags.

“Thank you guys, really. I know it's not part of the job description,” She called to the captains as she followed them up the stairs.

“We've been flying these guys around for years. Trust me, this isn't the worst thing we've had to do outside our job description,” Captain Aren admitted with a smile.

“Plus, Haner owes us one now!” Captain Martin grinned at the guitarist, who reclined in one of the comfy-looking chairs, one foot propped up on the chair across from him and the other stretched to accommodate his rather ugly hip brace. “How is it you've never introduced us to Findlay, Brian?”

“Well, shit. Finn, meet the steadfast pilots, Captains Aren and Martin. Caps, Findlay, steadfast partner. You guys should open a private practice in stability or something,” He waved his hand at the trio, glowering a little at them. “Now, the longer I'm on this plane, the more my hip hurts and the grumpier I get,”

“Duly noted. Let's get this bird in the air shall we, Mart?” The brown-haired pilot nodded and started toward the cockpit as the sandy-haired Aren closed the flight door. Finn took this as her cue to sit next to Brian, her feet propped next to his.

“You ok, babe?” She asked, leaning back to find the seatbelt they were supposed to be wearing. It wasn't like Brian to be quite so short.

“Just tired. Happy to be going home. Who's picking us up?”

“Tor. And Matt. I'm not sure why both, I can't think of a reason they would be together.”

“I hope they're not planning a surprise party. They know I can't drink yet, right?”

“After what you guys did to me on my thirtieth? You deserve that.” Finn giggled as Captain Aren announced their pending takeoff. The plane jerked as it began to taxi. “I suspect that Tor just wants to see me and deliver the weed I asked for.” Brian shot her a look, eyebrow raised. He would smoke on occasion, but the years of their youth where it was almost daily were past them and the lavender-haired guitarist hadn't partaken in a few years. “I thought it would help with the pain.”

His eyes softened and he reached for her hand as he tilted his head back, relaxing into the plane seat. “Thirty-five years I spent looking for you,” He chuckled, twisting their fingers together.

“And five years wondering why you bothered,” She grinned, leaning to press her lips into his stubbly cheek. It wasn't even fair to call it stubble any more - it was a patchy beard, accumulated after almost four days without a razor. “I love you old man,”

“I love you too, tiny human. Ugh, you know, I swore the first time I got you on this jet I’d induct you to the mile high club,”

“Hate to break it to you, Bri, but I've already got my wings,”

“Well fuck!” He chuckled, reaching to maneuver her lips to his. She couldn’t sit in his lap because of the hip brace, but she found herself lounging on the arm of his seat, her legs over his lap, her torso curled to rest her head on his shoulder. The flight was only an hour, so they didn’t have that much time to kill.

“I can’t believe what happened,” She murmured finally, nuzzling her nose into his shoulder. “It’s kind of surreal.”

“It’s been a whirlwind. I haven’t been able to unpack it. Have we heard from the cops yet?”

“No, but it’s not like I’ve called to check.”

“I’ll ask Dan to follow up for us.” The black-haired guitarist pulled out his cell, prompting Finn to straighten. As he texted, she toyed with his hair, twisting it into some semblance of its former bouffant-ed glory. It was getting a little long - and was more than a little bit greasy, he wouldn’t be able to shower until he got his staples taken out.

“What is it, punk? Why are you staring at my head?” With a start, Finn realized he had turned his tired tawny eyes up to hers, his hand massaging her bare legs.

“I’m admiring your distinguished grey hair,” She murmured, twisting the wing of grey by his temple around her finger. “I kinda miss my grey,”

“Thinking of dying it in solidarity?” He asked, that shit-eating grin she loved so much playing at his lips.

“Nah, I think I’m just bored with the purple again.” The guitarist ran her hand through his hair one more time with a frown. “Can I wash this in the sink or something when we get home?”

“You always come back to purple these days, though,” He murmured, ignoring her generous offer to wash his hair.

“It’s a metaphor for my love life, obviously. I may try other colors, but purple is my favorite.” She smiled, her fingers under his chin to tilt his lips to hers for once.


	10. Chapter 10

Going down the stairs was much more difficult than going up for Brian, so Findlay burst out of the plane before him, abandoning her partner to the will of the Captains as she jogged to grab her twin in a fierce hug.

“God I’m so glad you’re ok,” Tor held her by the shoulders fiercely, crushing his twin’s face into his chest as he stroked her back. “I got an alert to my phone before I got your message.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Tor, I wish there had been a better way to get in touch,”

“No, no, Finby, it’s ok. You’re all ok,”

“And my guitarist is now the Terminator,” Matt rasped next to the hugging twins, reaching out to rub Finn’s shoulder gently. “How was the flight?”

“If I’m the Terminator, it’s T-1000, guys. I’m liquid metal goo,” Brian called as he ‘walkered’ his way over to the trio, moving right past them. “Go get my bags, monkeys, I’ll meet you at the car,”

“Yes, master,” Toric joked as he and Finn walked back to the plane to accept their bags from the Captains with Finn’s thanks and a quick introduction of her twin to the pair. Matt had helped Brian into the Haner family Cayenne, folding his walker to put in the trunk with their suitcases. The twins sat together in the backseat.

“How was the flight? You guys enjoy having the plane all to yourselves?” Matt asked as he weaved through traffic, hinting at Haner’s earlier comment about the mile high club. His face dropped as the older guitarist answered for the pair.

“Ah, well, I’m not allowed yet and Finn’s already got her wings, so maybe next time,” Brian sounded serious, but Finn could see the grin playing at the edge of his lips as the singers expressed their disgust in the pair of guitarists. He offered his fist back over his shoulder for a bump. “Worth it!”

Findlay took the opportunity to snuggle with her twin as Matt drove the twenty minutes to Huntington Beach, recounting what she knew for the umpteenth time. She and Brian had both given statements to the police from the hospital - as had the rest of the guys.

“... and we still don’t know why he did it.” Finn concluded as Matt pulled into the guitarist's’ driveway, hopping out to help with Brian’s walker and their bags.

“I cannot wait to get on crutches,” The black-haired man grumbled as he meandered up the driveway, letting Finn precede him with her backpack and the house key.

The singers brought their bags into the living room after the guitarists made their way to the kitchen - Finn was thankful, as she would have struggled with the heavy bags on the sloped driveway. As the trio of men made their way out back, Finn searched for one of Brian’s pieces in their closet, cursing their decision to tuck them away some months ago. Finally, she freed one, and kicked off her shoes before she walked out the sliding glass door to find the guys pensive on the back deck.

“Why the long faces?” She asked, setting the piece down next to her twin, trying not to giggle at Haner’s strange stance in the chair - he had to sit on the very edge and lean his torso back to not aggravate the joint, and would spend a lot of time laying down over the next week and a half until his staples came out.

“Come on, have a seat Finn,”

“No seriously, what’s wrong?” She sought a cigarette as she pulled a chair out from the teak table to sit, her eyebrow raised at her unusually somber twin. Had they been unusually quiet in the car, or was this a recent development? Regrettably, she had chatted the entire time, and didn’t know. Their faces were unreadable behind various sunglasses.

“We do know why he did it, Finn,” Her partner’s voice was quiet and tense - he would have been leaning forward, with his hands clasped and elbows on his knees if it wasn’t medically forbidden. Quietly, Toric was packing the bowl with sure fingers, readying it for the injured guitar god. Obviously, he hadn’t done it for some sort of “good” reason, whatever had driven the guy to get up on stage and shoot up Avenged’s set couldn’t be a good thing. But the guys seemed more concerned than that.

“I know better than to ask you not to freak out, sweet, but try,”

“This is freaking me out already. What the fuck, guys?” Her fingers shook as she took the bowl from her brother, taking a deep breath before she passed it back to her ailing partner.

“I got a call from Dan. He’s been handling LVPD for us. You know all that. He said the guy’s lawyers are pleading insanity. He’s… obsessed.” Matt’s tone was flat and he toyed with a cigarette in his hand. Finn was shocked to see one there. “The first thing he requested - before his phone call - was a copy of your Maxim shoot. They pulled a warrant on his house. Findlay…”

“It’s like some sick shit shrine. To you. He wanted to shoot Brian because he thought you were meant to be together,”

Finn’s head was spinning as her twin finished for Matt, and she gripped the edge of the table as she tried to process, cigarette dangling dangerously from her lips. As she chewed on the filter, she willed her hands into her lap, looking up at her twin with hard eyes.

“Why? Why does this keep happening?” She didn’t have to reference Jay for the three men to get it, though her question was directed to her twin her voice was meant for all of them. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Embarrassingly, her voice cracked and she buried her head in her hands as her twin drew her into his lap, murmuring sweet nothings and stroking her hair. She knew he was having a silent conversation with her partner and their friend, but didn’t care to plug in as she sobbed into his grey t-shirt. Hadn’t she cried enough in the past few days?

“Finby, it’s ok. Don’t cry. It’s not your fault,” Her brother soothed, pushing her hair out of her face as she reached the end of her tears, taking long and slow breaths to avoid hyperventilating.

“I… I think I’m going to go lay down,” She murmured, standing. Her cigarette had long since gone out. Brian called out to her, asking her to stay with them. “No, I’m too tired to deal with this.”

In a haze, the lavender-haired guitarist brushed past the guys and into the house, letting the sliding glass door slowly shut behind her as she wandered to the bedroom. She really needed a shower, but fell into the white expanse of comforter without thought, wrapping herself into the soft, cloudy sheets.

How? She mused in wonder, her eyes closed and body cocooned in their bedclothes. Why was it ok for people to be violent, to hurt others on her behalf - because of her? It hadn’t been that big of a jump for her to consider Jay, hurting her out of obsession with her all of those years ago, the precursor to what had happened days ago onstage. And in between, “microaggressions” - the vicious comments against one by the other’s fans, the occasional threat of violence against the pair, that girl in Las Vegas sharing the picture of her and Brian on the balcony with the entire contents of Las Rageous…

It was more than she could bear.


	11. Chapter 11

Finally, Finn let herself actually cry - she didn't try to stop herself as she had been those past few days. Since the gun went off she had been trying to stay as strong as she could - for the boys, for Brian - but this… this was the kicker. She couldn't deal with the idea that Brian had been shot because of her.

After a while, when her tears had mostly been poured out into their mattress, she felt a weight settle on the edge of the bed. It shifted until the man reclined across the bed. Brian. Had to be, who else would lay on the bed? Across their pillows?

“Sweet thing, I'm just gonna take a bit of a nap until you're ready to come out.” He sounded high - but not ludicrously high. More like pain management high.

She listened as he fell asleep, his breathing deep and uneven. After a few minutes, she pulled the comforter from around her eyes, looking at him with the rest of her body hidden. Even in a hip brace, dirty from a week of not showering, he was every inch as attractive as the moment she had first met him.

The smaller guitarist propped her head on her fists, staring, thinking. She didn't get to wander far, though, before one chocolate brown eye opened to peer at her.

He didn't say anything, just gazed at the stormy-eyed guitarist as she took him in. He laid on his side with a pillow between his knees - a requirement in the brace - his head propped on his fist. His salt and pepper hair flopped over his forehead, pushed back in that careless rockstar way she loved. He was hot even in his stupid white brace.

“Sweet? I'm not sure if you're about to cry or jump me - all I can see are your eyes,”

“... when the stillness comes…” She sang softly, getting a laugh from him as he reached through the eyehole of her comforter fort. Slayer, appropriate for every situation.

“Come here and give an old cripple a kiss,” Ugh, he had to make her think of it? He was only crippled because of her, apparently. Instead of going to him, Finn retreated farther into her blanket fort, pouting and trying not to cry all over again. Her eyes were starting to hurt from overuse.

“Finn… Findlay, come on. Don't run from me, this isn't any more my fault than it is yours. It was some psycho with a gun and there was not a single thing you could do about it. Babe. I would pull you out of there myself if I could reach you -” He sounded like he was shifting to do just that, and she popped her head out of the blankets finally, knowing she looked a mess.

A slow smile spread over Brian's concerned features, his cheeks stretching tight over his high cheekbones. “God you're adorable, have you seen yourself?” He asked rhetorically, reaching to put his hand on her cheek. She nuzzled into it unconsciously, pressing her lips to his tattooed palm. “That's my girl,” He murmured, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

“God Bri, I'm so sorry,” She mumbled against his skin, holding his hand to her cheek with one of hers.

“What the fuck do you have to be sorry for Findlay?” His tone was tense but not angry, his hand still gentle on her cheek. “I swear woman, if you apologize for him again…”

“Yeah, but when it was just me getting hurt by crazies it was fine. Now you? Who's next? Who else is going to get hurt because of me?”

“Oh, Finn,” He drew her to press her forehead into his, his tawny eyes closed. “Finn, sweet, I wish I could tell you how wrong you are. That this isn't your fault. You never listen.” The guitarist paused, breathing deeply.

“I want to go to counseling when I can walk again. And I think you should go, too.” The lavender-haired guitarist recoiled onto her haunches in anger, hands braced on her thighs.

“Counseling? I mean, I know I'm fucked up, Haner, but do I really need professional intervention? Again?” After so many appointments with “shrinks” on her path to a diagnosis of ADD and Asperger’s, she was reluctant to trust counselors. They hadn’t helped her then, and she didn’t feel that they would help her now.

“That's not what I said, Findlay.” His eyes were hard on hers, his lips pursed into a thin line. “I think we have a lot to work through that we can't deal with alone. Talking to Toric and I doesn't count, Finn. This is serious.”

“No shit.”

“Just… don't get angry now. Just think about it, ok?” He flipped over onto his back with another sigh, gripping his ‘Jimmy necklace’ tightly in his fist. “Fuck. I need a painkiller.”

“I'll get them.” Finn hopped out of bed, going for the bottle in her purse and retrieved a cup of water from the sink. When she returned, Brian was working his way to the edge of the bed to get to his feet, shimmying awkwardly. The lavender-haired woman set down the glass and the pill bottle to lend a hand, pulling him up onto his good foot by the hand in the way the nurses at the hospital had taught. Apparently, there were ways for the much smaller woman to heft the black-haired guitarist around like he weighed nothing.

Somehow, one of them knocked into the water glass and it shattered by their bare feet.

“Fucking… fuck!”

“Just wait, I'll get the broom,” As she paced to the laundry room, she heard a choked sob from the bedroom, which sent her sprinting for flip flops for both of them rather than cleaning supplies - the temporary solution to the problem and the first thing she could think of.

Brian laid back on the bed again, on his stomach with a hand in his hair. With his sandals in hand, Finn tiptoed through the glass to get to the bed, leaving the shoes on the floor as she took Brian's head in her hands, stroking his hair like Matt had pet hers, trying to be soothing.

“Fuck, Finn,” His voice was hoarse, his hands gripping her ass to pull his head onto her thighs to hide his face. It was a while before he spoke again, “I can't fucking be strong for us. Not right now. I'm fucking helpless.”

Great. Now they were both crying in a snotty mess on their bed, with a shattered glass beside them. Finn wiped her nose with the back of her hand, staring up at the ceiling as her other hand massaged his dark hair.

“I love you, Brian,” She managed, brushing his hair back from the face buried in her thighs. How could that be comfortable? The lithe guitarist was bony - and so was the black-haired man whose face was buried in her lap. She was pretty sure his cheekbones were grating on her femurs.

“Want to be there for you, Finby. So fucking bad. I can't handle it right now.” His voice was muffled into her skin, but she could feel that he was still crying. “God I can't stand this,”

“Let me get you water for a pill, Bri,” She managed weakly, toying with his earlobe between her fingers.

“It's not the pain, Finn. I feel so fucking useless. I can't walk, I can't stand, I can't even lay down without fucking help.”

“Baby, it's only a few more days…”

“Findlay, I'm already starting to feel ancient trying to keep up with you. This is so much fucking worse. I'm like your fucking bedridden grandad.”

“Brian…”

“No, Finn.” His fist on the bed startled her, and she flinched at the hard slap of the impact. “This is one of those moments. I don’t want your advice. I don’t want your sympathy. I want you to listen.”

She had to hand it to the man - he had gotten very good at telling Findlay exactly what he expected of her in social and emotional interactions when she wasn’t getting it. She let her fingertips rub over his temples and back into his hair as he spoke, twisting it gently to form peaks before rubbing her fingers into his scalp to flatten them out.

“I feel like I keep getting older and you don’t. You keep getting more beautiful. More successful. And I’m proud of you for it, but I just can’t keep up like I used to.” Finn opened her mouth to comment, but thought better of it and instead focused on the head-and-neck massage she had started to give the guitarist in her lap. “Especially right now. I feel like I’m holding you back, sweet. And don’t say I’m not, I can’t handle bullshit right now.”

Finn remained quiet, chewing on her scarred lip as she moved down to his shoulders, thumbs working in small circles. After a long moment of silence, Brian gripped her hips hard before he shifted to lift his head out of her lap, supporting it with his elbows. His skin was blotchy and tight across his cheekbones, his tired eyes slightly swollen. The lavender-haired woman bent to press her lips to his forehead, her hands clasped behind his head.

“This is fucking dumb,” She murmured against his skin, reaching with her thumbs to brush the damp from under his eyes with her hands on the sides of his head.

“Excuse me?” He asked, chocolatey brown eyes hard. She hated seeing him angry, and even more so when it was directed at her, but it needed to be said.

“You heard me. You’re a smart man, Haner, I hate to hear you saying stupid shit.” She leaned back with one hand braced behind her, the other still on his cheek. “Remember when we first started seeing each other? Back on tour? When I thought you were a flight risk?”

“I do,”

“Same principle. You are not holding me back. You make me greater.” The lithe guitarist tipped her head back, her thumb stroking the bags under his eyes. “Got anything else dumb to say?”

“I wish my balls weren’t fucked up,”

“There it is. How would that work, ya old fuck?” She leaned down to kiss his slightly-swollen lips as he reached to scoop an arm around her butt once more, pulling the smaller guitarist under his chest. “You’re awfully strong for a geriatric with a broken hip,”

“You’re fucking mean, sweet thing.” He said with a grin, kissing her exposed shoulder.

“You love it,”

“I love you,” He murmured, nuzzling his greasy head into the crook of her shoulder as she stretched her legs under him and piled the blankets over her stomach so he could lay on top of her without hurting her with the brace. Finn folded her hands on the back of his neck and let herself drift off under his familiar weight.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I am so sorry all, I went on (a socially distant) vacation and blissfully forgot about everything going on on the world. And to update my stories.

The next day, Finn laid on their couch with her feet in the air and a guitar in her lap, head danging as the guys gathered in the living room. What Haner had done was call a meeting of the minds via group text, and now she had to wear pants. In her own home. Talk about annoying.

“Finn, could you sit like a real people, please? It makes me uncomfortable that you can play like that,” Rhys joked, sitting beside the lithe guitarist opposite her bassist.

Brian was settled in his armchair to Max’s left with an ottoman to prop up his leg. Tor, Zacky and Johnny sat in chairs, and Brooks sat in the twin to Brian’s armchair. Matt perched on the arm of the couch next to Rhys, a bare foot on the couch. The guys were much more casual when they had a break from touring - almost everyone was wearing some combination of board shorts, a t-shirt or a tank and flip flops, but for Zacky who always had his punky cuffed jeans going on. Finn grinned at the group upside-down, passing the guitar off to Max so she could flip over. This was a serious meeting, after all.

“I just like to take a different perspective is all,” She joked, taking the guitar back from Max to rest it in her lap, her fingers still on the strings.

“Ok, you two, what is this all about? Touring questions?” Zacky asked after a minute, cutting through the chatter that always happened when the guys got together. “I mean, I’m sure you’re aware, but that’s a hard pause at the moment,”

“Acutely, thanks Zack.” Brian sighed, rubbing his eyes before he continued. The guitarist hadn’t slept well that night for whatever reason. “No, Finn said something yesterday and it got me to thinking.”

“Dangerous business, thinking for a guy like you,” Johnny quipped, but was silenced by a glare from the black-haired man.

“I think we should go out together. When I’m healed, when you guys drop your album. We have a lot of ground to cover to make up for what we’re missing, we might as well do it with the Heathens.” Brian reached for his coffee cup beside the chair, and took a mighty gulp before he continued into the contemplative silence. “Remember how much fucking fun we had in the UK?”

“We’re a lot older now, Brian,” Matt mused, rubbing his chin, just as Tor piped in.

“What you’re talking about is going to be massive, Brian. We’re not going on some little six-months-at-a-time tour. We’re supposed to do a world tour. The tentative schedule is fifteen months,”

“I know that, Finn’s complained about it a lot.”

“That’s a long time for us to be away from our families, man. It works for you because you have Finn there, but the rest of us?” Zacky interjected, toying with his phone nervously. “I can do a few months at a time, but fifteen?”

“There would be downtime. There is downtime,” Max informed the blue-eyed guitarist, his eyes still on Brian. “If we keep to the schedule our management proposed,”

“Which is what?” Matt asked with a frown. “I don’t have enough information to make a decision. There’s no way I could agree to it without knowing what dates you’re considering,”

“Hang on, guys. I’ve got the email here. I’ll send it around.” Rhys came in with the information. The youngest member of both bands was basically a Boy Scout, always somehow prepared with information despite his lackadaisical Cali-boy appearance.

There was a momentary silence as phones began to buzz, and the guys got copies of the proposal for the Heathen’s tour. Their management had re-tooled the tour to start in October rather than late July after Brian was shot, when Findlay made it exceedingly clear she was not going to leave the man at home alone during his recovery.

“This is a tough schedule, guys. How are you not going to burn out?” Johnny asked, looking at the small guitarist on the couch. “Like, three months on, two weeks off? I can’t do this,”

“So we change it,” Tor mused, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “We can do that. We can extend the off times. Sure, it extends the ‘fifteen month’ time, but I’d do it for longer breaks. Three months on, one off.”

“That does give us time to come home…” Brooks contributed for the first time, eyes on his phone. “America for four months, time off for the holidays, Europe for four months - Russia, guys, really? - another month, and then Oceana? You didn’t want to tour Africa and South America?”

“South America is a big deal for us,” Zacky agreed with Brooks, once again toying with his phone. “I think this is sixteen months,”

“And if you add South America it could become two fucking years,” Matt closed his phone, setting it on the coffee table in front of him. “If we do this, we’re going to have to make some changes.”

“Agreed.” Brian nodded, fingers tapping on his knee and his eyes on the guitar in Findlay’s hands as she started to play. Hastily, she dropped her hands to her lap.

“But I don’t think negotiation is off the table. We haven’t committed to this schedule yet. I think it’s more the idea that we will tour. And we’re going to hit everyone.”

“We have to do a little more in Mexico and South America,” Brian said, looking at his lead singer. “Peru has been begging for us to come for years. But the idea I have is - we do this tour and we take a fucking break. Not an announced hiatus, don’t look at me like that, Johnny. Fucking time. off. Think about it - when was the last time we took more than three months off?”

“Not since Jimmy died,” Johnny pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I think time off sounds like a great idea. But isn’t that what we’re doing now?”

“Hardly. Three of us got fucking shot. I don’t consider this time off,” Matt cut in, looking over at Finn as he spoke. “And to be honest, I haven’t stopped writing. Have you?”

“Do you ever stop writing?” Rhys asked, looking for like he didn’t understand the concept of not making music every single day.

“This is like, Adele-style touring. We’d need to sell out almost every venue to make this worth it.” Zacky tapped the end of his long nose with a calloused finger.

“We put on a hell of a show. You guys have never had an issue selling out arenas and neither have we.” Finn said finally, setting the butt of the guitar between her feet as she regarded the other guitarist. “I know it sounds selfish of me, but I don’t want to go out without Brian this time. Not after what just happened.”

“I think that’s reasonable, Finn. Really. I’m for it, we just need to figure out how to schedule it.” Matt reached over Max’s head to pat Finn’s lavender hair. It had taken them years to become friends, but after so long of a vetting period, Findlay knew that he was someone he could count on for life. Zacky had been right years ago when he had said Matt was a “slow burn” kind of guy.

“I agree. I’m down to tour with you guys. We have a lot to make up for.” Brooks added as Johnny nodded. The entire group turned to Zacky.

“What?” He shook his head, still staring at his phone and not his bandmates. A bad sign. He hesitated before he answered. “God, I want to guys. But… Meaghan’s pregnant.”

The commotion caused by the statement was immediate - congratulations were mixed with disbelief over not being told sooner. The pair had been trying to get pregnant again for a long time, hoping for one more before it was too late. Meaghan was younger than Zacky by a few years, but Finn knew enough about pregnancy to know that she wasn’t young enough that it would be considered “low-risk.”

“Fuck, why didn’t you say something sooner, Zack?”

“Because she’s still in the first trimester. Every time I think we’re in the clear to tell people, we lose one. It’s not fucking fair to her.”

“We do what we always do. We get ready in case you have to leave.” Johnny provided, optimistically.

“Yeah, but this time Findlay can’t fill in for me.”

“I mean, I could, but that’s a whole lotta show,” She mused, thinking of how long both bands tended to play. “Though I wouldn’t hate being back onstage with y’all again.”

“I’d be interested to see how your chemistry with Synyster has changed,” Tor snickered, getting a glowering look from his sister for his troubles. “Fine. So we find someone qualified to stand in just in case?”

“We do have time for that, Zack,” Brian mused, tapping a finger to his lips.

“Would we just go together or would we get an opener?” Max asked from beside Finn, leaning back into the couch.

“I like doing local openers.” Tor added.

“Wait. Zacky. Are you in? Can we do this?” Brian looked at his onstage partner, an eyebrow lifted.

“I gotta talk to Meaghan, but I think I’m a yes. The money is gonna be too good. Touring with you kids was too fun last time to say no,” Zacky sighed, leaning back in his chair. “God, Finn, how come it’s every time I tour with you my wife is pregnant?”

“We’ve only toured together once, Zack.” Finn murmured, rolling her eyes.

“Point stands.”


	13. Chapter 13

Two weeks later, and the details were settled. Finn was sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for Brian to get out of Physical Therapy and answering emails when her phone began to buzz.

“Findlay. Do you have Haner? We need to have a call.” It was Taylor, the band’s manager.

“Like, right now?”

“Well the rest of the guys are on the line, so yeah, right now.” A chorus of tinny voices greeted Findlay, and with a sigh, she stood.

“Ok, but he’s in PT right now. He’s not gonna be thrilled, if I can even get back there to see him.” She was walking up to the front desk as she spoke, looking at the nurse who manned the desk at the clinic. “Is that a possibility? Can I go back and see my partner? I promise I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“Let me buzz back and see. This is for a business call?”

“Yes, if you can, tell him we’ve got both bands on the line.” Finn smiled apologetically at the nurse as she put the phone back to her ear. “Sorry guys, the nurse is gonna see if I can go back to him.”

“Take your time, not like there’s ten people waiting for you,”

“Ok, Toric, why y’all decided to do this during his PT is beyond me, ok?” The nurse was on the desk phone, waiting. With a nod, she hung up.

“The doctor says you shouldn’t, as this is a painful part of the process, but the patient says he needs to be on the line. So… Come on back?” Findlay grimaced - Brian had described this part of his PT to her before, and she wasn’t super excited to see him in it.

The room was windowless and white, with a set of what looked like parallel bars in one corner, a chair and a long table on the opposite wall, and an exam table. Brian, however, laid on the floor. His doctor, a cute girl which Finn had no doubt the man had relentlessly hit on, was stretching his leg up toward his face on her knees, his calf on her shoulder and a hand on either side of the joint - quite close to his junk, Finn noticed with a wry grin. Probably closer than she should have been.

“I’ve got bands on the phone, Mr. Haner,” Finn called mockingly, crossing the room to sit cross-legged by his head with the phone on speaker. The physical therapist looked up with a shock, as if she hadn’t known Finn would be in the room with them, and quickly moved her hand. Brian looked up at his partner with a grimace stretched into some semblance of a grin.

“Hey, babe. Hi, guys.” Finn set the phone on her bare knee as Brian reached to twine his fingers in hers, still grimacing as the therapist pushed his hip around. “It’s not the hip itself that hurts. It’s fucking everything else,” He murmured, squeezing her hand tightly.

“Alright, guys, what have you got for me, Brian and Brian’s doctor?” Finn asked as she freed her fingers from his grasp and began to massage them, one at a time. It must have been suggestive, because the therapist moved her hand a little further from Brian’s crotch as she stretched him.

“We’ve got a schedule. And your doctor might be able to help with our start date. We’re looking at North America September through November, taking time off until just after New Years, then hopping to the UK and Europe until May. Come home for June. Hit Russia and Asia for four months - including Japan, by the way. Break for two months November and December. Asia January through March. Break in April. Wrap up South America and Mexico March through June. Twenty-one months, start to finish.”

“That’s aggressive,” Finn murmured, looking at the chocolate-eyed guitarist on the floor beside her. She wished she had a paper out to take notes. “Doc, what do you think about that start time? Do you think he’ll be ready for shows in September?”

“We’d announce the tour, like, next weekend sis, so we’ve gotta know.” Toric’s voice boomed from across town. The rest of her band must have been sitting with Taylor in his office.

“Does that mean we’d play our surprise show in Boston in a week?”

“Yes it does.”

“Fuck,” Brian winced as the PT pushed him a little further.

“He’s not swearing at you guys,” Finn supplied quickly. “Do we have a hard copy of the schedule? Because I’ll give you a verbal but we’ll have to talk with Brian’s doctors.”

“Do you jump off things? Jump around? Run a lot? Stage dive? Kick your legs around a lot?” Brian shook his head no at his doctor’s line of questions.

“Man, you make him sound so low-energy on stage,” Zacky commented dryly over the phone. “Is he clear, Doc?”

“I think as long as he is mindful of what happens if he dislocates it, he’s fine. I’d imagine that brace would be embarrassing to wear onstage.” Finn chuckled at the therapist as Brian gave her a wink. Oh, she was under his spell alright.

“Didja hear that, boys? The old man is open for business!”

“Alright, let’s not get hasty here, there’s still a lot you can’t do, Bri - Mr. Haner.” Finn tried not to quirk an eyebrow at the woman. It wasn’t very often that someone flirted quite so hard with him when she was holding his hand. In other circumstances, she wouldn't have cared less, but the woman had basically palpated his crotch before she walked in. They were going to have to have words.

“Alright. I'm gonna hang up before this devolves into a medical eval of Brian. It's a yes from me. Brian?”

“I agree. Yes from me too.” He winced - not from his therapist’s hip twisting maneuver but from a tight squeeze from Finn’s fingers on his.

“We can talk weekend plans as a band and not drag the boys into it. Unless it's a joint activity too?”

“Could be,” Taylor offered.

“Well, you guys just let me know what you decide on that. I'm going either way.” Finn shrugged, aware they couldn't see her over the phone anyway.

“I think I am too. I don't think I'm cleared for a show this weekend yet though. Not free-standing anyway.” Haner added. The lavender-haired woman raised an eyebrow at him, lips pursed in wonder. How was he getting physical therapy, making tough band decisions rationally and flirting with his therapist and partner all at once?

“Didn't think you'd be coming with me, baby,” she commented, as she hung up the phone.

“I don't think I'm ready to put you onstage without being nearby,” He murmured, looking up at her with a serious light in his eyes. He wasn't flirting, was paying no attention to his hip. Only to the stormy-eyed guitarist as he gripped both of her hands with his tattooed fingers.

Finn smiled at him, releasing a pair of fingers to brush a wry grey strand out of his face.

“Ok Mr. Haner. I think we're about done here. Do you need a hand up?”

“Finby’s got me. Though she be but little, she is fierce.” The smaller guitarist hopped up, grinning from ear to ear as the therapist moved to go fill out paperwork at one of the side tables. Finn offered him both of her hands and helped him to his feet with a grin.

As he straightened, he caught her shoulders, bending to press his lips against her ear.

“I'm cleared,”

She had never driven through Huntington so fast.


	14. Chapter 14

The pair didn't even make it out of the truck. As she pulled into the garage, Brian pulled her to his lap. She had hardly even put the truck in park when his lips crashed into hers, and his calloused fingers guided her hips over the center console so she straddled his lap. He nipped at her lips until they parted to let his tongue dance with hers, his hands relieving her of her shirt with practiced efficiency.

Finn let her fingers trail down his sides to unbutton his board shorts, yanking them down and off his hips gently but efficiently as he lifted himself out of the seat slightly. They had been apart for more than a month before he was shot, and it was going on two and a half now. While she had been able to pleasure him after his balls healed from the gunshot, his limited mobility and her flat unwillingness to “just sit on my face” had limited their contact - and her getting off. It was even difficult to masturbate knowing that his exquisite dick was within reach, and the anticipation had nearly killed her.

Really, Findlay was just happy to see it had obviously been killing him, too.

“God, you’re so fucking hard, Bri,” She murmured with a mischievous grin, setting her lips back to the corner of his jaw.

“Do you know how long I have been waiting for that woman to tell me I could have you again?” He asked through a mouthful of her lavender curls, fiddling with the button of her jeans so he could shuck them off, leaving her in a lacy pink bralette and nothing else. With his now-freed hands, the guitarist pulled her chest to his face so he could nip at her pierced nipple through the fabric, the other hand toying with her clit before finally sinking into her.

Finn moaned, one hand against the lofty ceiling of the truck to keep her head from bumping against it as Brian searched for that spot that made her wet enough to take him. When he didn’t find it quickly enough, he stuck his fingers in his mouth, looking up at her with lust in his tawny eyes before he rubbed them against her, paying special attention to her lips. Fuck, they had been doing this long enough to know little details about each other like where they liked to be lubed up, but she still ached for him as much as she had that day on stage where he had stomped on her soundcheck.

“Brian,” She breathed, tilting his chin up with her free hand. “Babe, I need you,”

With his clean hand, he reached up to caress her cheek, positioning himself below her with his other hand as she lowered herself toward him, searching for his head. Finally, he was pressed against her slit, sending heat radiating through her limbs where their skin met there and where they were connected by the lips. Her hands on either side of his face, Findlay focused on the sensation of him as she took him inside her, how his hips spread her legs just a little further apart as she fit him into her, when her cit hit his groin.

He moaned as she began to ride him agonizingly slowly, her head thrown back and hands on his shoulders. She felt him pull the fabric back from her meager breasts, exposing them to the cool air of the truck as he leaned forward to take her unpierced nipple between his teeth to give it equal treatment. It sent tingles down her spine and she shuddered onto him, beginning to pick up speed. Neither of them would last forever, she knew.

“Oh my god, Finn,” Well that about did it. She reached her edge and made as if to slow, but his hands found her hips, his breath still hot against her nipple as he forced her to keep her rhythm on top of him. She flipped her head forward, reaching for his lips with hers, their tongues colliding.

In a matter of minutes, he exploded into her, causing her own chain reaction as she kissed him, moaning against his lips desperately.

Panting, she leaned her head down in front of him, an arm braced on either side of the seat behind his shoulders.

“God damn, Brian. I’ve fucking needed you,”

“I love you, sweet.” Tenderly, his fingers found her chin and guided her lips to his, and she let her chest touch his, her hands buried in the collar of his t-shirt. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up,”

She sat back on her haunches, gazing at him for a moment in awe, tentatively reaching her fingers up to brush his hair out of his face and let her fingers trail to his lips.

“God I’m so fucking lucky,” She murmured, watching as his smile broadened under her fingertips. “I fucking love you.”

“I’ll never understand why,” He laughed, his heavily-lidded eyes twinkling.

She reached to press the button that closed the garage door - something they had neglected to do - before she climbed off him, clamping her kegels to keep any of his seed from falling onto the leather seats as she hopped out of the truck with her clothes in hand. He walked slowly behind her, following her through the house, watching as she made a pit stop at the kitchen to grab a glass for water.

“Nope. Can’t wait,” His murmur was the only warning she had before his hand was on her hip, the other on her shoulder, pressing her hipbones into the marble as he leaned her over the countertop so he could maneuver inside her again.

“Fuck, the stone’s cold!” She cried out as his hands settled on her hips. The lavender-haired guitarist opened her legs for him, though, gasping at the juxtaposition of his warmth inside her and the hard, cold carerra marble grating into her hipbones.

“You’ll just have to come quick, then,” His voice was dark with passion, his thrusts quick enough that his balls slapped against her clit in a way that made her arch her back, begging for more.

“Harder, Bri, fucking harder,”

He grunted in response, his strokes speeding up just that much more. Findlay moaned and let her eyes roll back into her head, stretching her torso out away from him over the marble despite the cold on her nipples, giving him the angle she knew would make him burst.

It worked. His hips rocked into hers harder for a few strokes until he moaned her name, exploding at the very edge of being inside of her, stepping back with a hand on her ass to watch as he dripped out of her.

“Aw, fuck babe, you’re making a mess,” She murmured, about to turn over under his hands. Just as she started to shift, his hand pushed her back down into the marble and he slipped himself back inside of her, leaving her shocked, her toes curled. “Brian,”

“I could take you again,” A smile twisted his lips and his voice, that lopsided grin that she wanted to kiss. She braced her hands on the edge of the marble, right under her hips, and bucked back against him gently, enjoying the length of him.

“Why not?” She asked, slowly pushing her hips back against his.

“Because I gotta lay down,” He sounded embarrassed as he pulled his hips from hers. She turned just in time to catching him take a limping step toward the spare bathroom. Swearing, she hit her fist against the marble and straightened.

She padded to their bathroom to clean herself up - he had truly made a mess, and there were going to be drips of him all over the house - before she walked back to the guest bath, leaning against the door jamb with her arms crossed under her bare breasts. Finn listened as the toilet flushed and the guitarist coughed before he yanked open the door, almost walking into her.

“Woah, fuck woman,” He took a step back onto his good leg, his hands up defensively. “You just waiting for me?”

“Yeah, I figured we'd take a nap. Gear up for… round three.” She looked through her long lashes at him in that way that she knew drove him nuts. The lithe guitarist was shocked when he didn't touch her face and pull her in for a kiss like he usually would have, but pushed past her to limp to the bedroom.

Frowning, Finn gave herself a long look in the bathroom mirror, trying to see if there was anything physically wrong with her that would have repulsed him. It hit her like a ton of bricks - it wasn't her. It was his hip. Swearing quietly about how stupid she was, she followed him to find him face down on the bed, gripping the coverlet in his balled fists.

“Baby,” She called quietly, as she padded across their bedroom, touching the back of his tattooed calf. “Brian,”

“I’m sorry baby. I’m fucking useless.”

“What makes you say that?” The guitarist asked, pausing at the edge of the bed before she laid down next to the naked man, her fingers tracing the tattoo on his back. Really, the only reason he avoided going shirtless was because of the ridiculous “Haner” tattoo across his back - he had chosen the font… poorly. “Brian, you just took me twice. With a brand new fucking hip and a decently fresh gunshot wound. I’d say you’re not useless.”

“Sweet, I can’t stand for more than ten minutes at a time, much less run around stage. How am I supposed to play a show this weekend?”

“If they decide to do it at all, you’ll do it from a chair. We’ll call Dave, borrow that fucking throne of his he used when he broke his fucking leg.” With a frown, she propped her head on her hand, watching him as her calloused fingertips played over his back. “Brian, you got fucking shot. You are the opposite of useless.”

Findlay waited for a moment, looking down at the man with a frown. Finally, she laid her hand on his back.

“Counseling.”

“Excuse me?” He murmured into the comforter before he turned his head toward her. His cheeks were ruddy, like he had been crying or fighting off tears. “Did you just… agree with me? About seeing a doctor?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it really went super well for me last time,” Finn muttered darkly, laying down on her back beside him, her hips near his shoulders. “Something obvious is up, babe, and I can’t talk you through it. Probably because I’m a fucked up person.”

“You are not -”

“Brian Elwin Haner Junior, I am the first person to admit that I have no grasp of typical human emotions. How can I help you with yours if I can’t even process mine?” She asked, staring at the beautiful wood-paneled ceiling. “Baby, I want to help you. It’s driving me nuts that I can’t help you.”

Those whiskey-colored eyes burned into her from where the man laid his arm across her scarred hip bones, his chin propped on his tattooed hand.

“You know. When they diagnosed you, I didn’t know what to do. How to help. But really, you with Asperger’s makes so much more sense,” He mumbled. He didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, she mused as she turned her chin back to the ceiling. Her disorder didn’t define her, but it sure did make life a little more understandable. The routines, the stubborn refusal to do anything she didn’t want to, the difficulty engaging with strangers unless they had music - and usually guitar - in common. How it had taken almost thirty years for a doctor to notice she was on the spectrum was actually beyond her - everyone that knew her closely enough to know her well and know the diagnosis said it made so much sense. Especially her brother.

“Yeah, I’m a fucking freak, I get it. This isn’t about me.” She immediately regretted lashing out as the black-haired guitarist reached out to take her hand in his, pressing her fingertips to his lips. “I’m sorry, Bri. Fuck, I hate being me sometimes.”

“Why would you ever hate being you when I love you so much?” He asked, his tone serious. Finn looked up at his face to make sure he wasn’t being sarcastic, and found his eyes were serious, too.

“I’m sorry, Brian. Shit would be so much easier if I could just… fucking understand.” Findlay sighed, pulling the comforter over her head. Sometimes, blocking out a couple of senses helped her focus on what she needed to say. “This still is not about me, Brian. I’m sorry, I don’t hate my life. I don’t understand it. Logically, it makes sense, but I still feel lucky and I don’t even fucking believe in luck. Fuck! Brian! Stop sidetracking me.”

She knew he grinned against the taught skin between her hips because she could feel his lips brush against her scars.

“Let’s go to counseling. Misha made me see a guy. After Jimmy died. I think he’s still in practice.”

“Sold.”

“I just have one more question,”

“Can you ask over a cigarette?”

“No,” His hands were firm on her hips as he lifted himself carefully, leaning next to her so he could stare into her eyes. Reluctantly, she tore her gaze from the ceiling to look at him, pulling the covers over her forehead. “Findlay. Why do you cut yourself? Does it... help you process?”

“I don’t any more,” The lie was distant, distracted. How did he know? She knew he saw her naked all the time, but she only did it when he wasn’t around. And she was careful. So careful. But she hadn’t been expecting his doctor to clear him so abruptly, the evidence was clear across her hips. 

“Baby. You have new scars. I’ve noticed them. I try to ignore them. But this one?” He drew a finger over her hip, tracing the latest. One she had done when they had first gotten home from Las Vegas, intersected by another she had done a little over a week ago. “That’s a big one. That must have hurt when I was pushing you into the marble,”

“Fuck,” She pulled the comforter over her head, looking away from him even though he couldn’t see her face through the fabric. The lithe guitarist couldn’t have pulled away even if she had tried, his grip on her hips were too strong.

“I started noticing them right after the Jay thing… six years ago?” He sat up beside her, still holding her down gently but firmly. “But you’re an adult, and how you want to manage pain should be up to you. You didn’t seem to want to seriously hurt yourself. I just want to understand.”

“Brian,” She tried to make her tone a warning, but her voice cracked. “This still isn’t about me. You got fucking shot, and all I want is to help. Why do you always make it about me?”

“Because it is all about you, baby. Everything. My life has revolved around yours since I met you.”

“So you’re… concerned? Not angry?”

“I am concerned, not angry. Why do you hurt yourself?” He asked, his fingers tracing over the myriad of scars criss-crossing her hips. “I’m… Disappointed in myself. You don’t feel like you can talk to me?”

“What is there to talk about, Brian?” She pulled the comforter off her head again, still staring at the ceiling so she didn’t have to meet his eyes. “I’m supposed to be ashamed. I’m not. It gives me… focus. I know things are supposed to hurt me, so when they don’t I make them.”

“That’s… so not good, Findlay. It’s not right.” He rested his forehead on her chest, sighing deeply. “Counseling?”


	15. Chapter 15

The guys piled onto the private jet heading for Boston. Nine on the same plane was a little packed - not as much room to move as either of them had normally - but the guys all seemed to be having a good time, Finn mused as she settled into her seat next to her twin. Brian was on the opposite side of the plane, giving her space. She appreciated that, after the early-morning session they had just had with the psychologist.

It had been a session to talk about the after-effects of the gunshot, but ended up turning into a session about management of her emotions after Brian had mentioned the cutting. Which was the opposite of what she wanted - to sit in the office talking about herself and her feelings. Of course, she didn’t want to talk to anyone about any of it, preferring to solicit a pre-takeoff vodka and coke from the flight attendant instead.

As the plane hit cruising altitude for the long flight, Findlay settled into the seat with her twin, her head nestled under his chin as he brushed his fingers through her hair as she gave him an emotionless debrief of the morning’s activities.

“You still do that, Findlay? Seriously?” Toric asked quietly in their private corner of the plane, his arms tight around his twin’s shoulders. “Why?”

“Focus,” She murmured with a shrug, reaching behind her for her drink. She groped for it for a moment before it was placed in her hand, and she tilted her head back to see her dark-haired partner in the seat beside them. “Fuck.”

“We’ve gotta talk, babe.”

“Yeah, we’ve got hours to do that, Bri. Don’t push it.”

“I hate to see you two fight almost as much as I hate to moderate it,” Toric murmured, petting his twin sister’s head until she rested it against his collarbone again. She felt him shake his head at her partner, and heard him shuffle away down the aisle. Finn knew she should have felt bad about making him walk around, but she was focusing on her own predicament, trying to figure out what wildcard her brother was going to ask her under the cover of the cacophony that was the boys on a plane together.

“Finby, he loves you. I’ve never seen you connect with someone that wasn’t me like you do with him. You don’t need to cut yourself - you need to talk to him. When it hurts. You don’t have to handle everything yourself,”

Toric, it had proven, was just like her. She had managed to convince him to go to the psych’s office a year after her diagnosis. He was a high-functioning sociopath, diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder, but had learned how to connect with humans in order to help his sister through life. Like fucking Dexter without the serial killer bit. Or that’s what he said. The only people who knew about either of the twin’s dissociative disorders were themselves, their bandmates, Brian and Zacky. Zacky had happened by accident - the man had walked into Brian and Finn’s house when the pair were shouting at each other about her lack of understanding, and it had cascaded from there after a few drinks.

The lavender-haired twin sighed.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Yeah, well. Just because I don’t truly get it doesn’t mean I have to hurt myself over it,”

“Not really fair, Toric.” She sighed, straightening reluctantly. “But I see the point. I told Haner I would try to stop. And I will try.”

“How did he find out, anyway?”

“He's known. Noticed it post-Jay. Didn't think he could say anything then. Now, it's been five years.” She could list the reason for each scar across her lower abdomen - scars she had refused to allow editors to remove when she did Maxim so many years ago. Then it was defiance, and sending a message to young women that it was ok to be flawed. Back then she had been “in remission,” the scars healed.

“Do you want to sleep?” Toric asked, brushing hair out of his sister's face.

“Need to. Need to talk to Brian more. This can't hang over my head. Not tonight.”

“Clever girl,” Toric shook the smaller twin’s frame off of his lap. She unfurled to stand, looking across the plane to find Brian laughing with Zacky and Johnny over something. His chocolate eyes found hers over the heads of their band mates immediately and he excused himself to stand. He and Toric inched past each other in the narrow aisle as Brian made his way to take the aisle seat Findlay had formerly occupied.

The corner of the plane was most private, with only two seats facing a wall. Finn settled in the chair next to him, wishing she could crawl into his lap and touch the grey wings at his temples. But the risk that he could dislocate his hip was still too high for that.

He offered her his hand and she took it in both of hers, stroking the back of it with her thumbs. They stared at each other in silence for a moment before Finn leaned over the armrest to kiss his exposed collarbone.

“Baby,” He freed his hand and wrapped it over her shoulders, pulling her closer to his chest. “Are you ok?” He asked, looking down at the small guitarist in his arms.

“I am fine, Brian. Are you… are you ready for this?” She had been encouraged to ask him more direct and specific questions about how he was feeling. One of the things that had come out of their counseling appointment - aside from needing individual assistance - was that Brian was incredibly nervous to get back onstage. For many reasons.

“Nope. But it has to happen sometime right?” Finn held the hand dangling over her shoulder tightly, threading her fingers between his.

“Brian,”

“This is my life, Findlay, this is what I do. I can’t afford to be afraid of it. I can’t do anything else.” His jaw was set and he stared at the seat in front of him. Finn reached up with a shaking hand to brush her fingers over his cheek.

“You don’t have to, Bri. Don’t push yourself.”

“I think I’m more ready emotionally than I am physically. I’m scared, but I’ve convinced myself lightning doesn’t strike twice.”

“Are you afraid it will happen again?” Her voice was barely a whisper, keeping their conversation between the two guitarists under the din of the rest of the men. The guys knew they had been to a counselor before they got on the plane, and were doing their best not to pry, but she didn’t want to risk it.

“I’m afraid next time they’ll get to you,” He admitted after a long pause, squeezing her fingers hard in his. “And a surprise show isn’t making me feel too much better - what kind of audience are we going to get?”

“We will have a great crowd. It’s at ‘Dise. Amy’s going to send texts to a few select people to start curating the audience. You know that.” Finn sighed, leaning her head against the seat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”

“You’re upset, it’s what you do when you’re upset.” He looked down at her, heavily-lidded eyes narrowed. “Do you understand why I feel like this, Finn? Logically, at least?”

It was a question he had started asking her more and more recently, when it was clear to him she didn’t understand something serious. She didn’t know why it helped when he did, but as their relationship grew and the pair started to get older, her lack of understanding could often be a barrier. It was a solid tactical move on Brian’s part.

The woman paused, thinking through it. She understood that he would be afraid of his hip holding him back, and understood that he would be afraid of getting shot again. But for the life of her, she didn’t understand why he would be afraid not for his own life, but for hers. Not from a logical standpoint. The lavender-haired guitarist tried to reason through, knowing that it was because he loved her, but self-sacrifice for others wasn’t something she had ever grasped fully.

“No,” She admitted finally, sitting back so she could look up at him as she explained, toying with her iridescent gauge earring - which was a present from Neil ages ago - as she did so. “I know that you don’t want to be shot again, and I know you don’t want your hip to hold you back. I don’t understand why you would worry about me. I’m sure it has something to do with… protecting me? I don’t… I’m sorry.”

Findlay schooled her hands to stillness in her lap, scowling at her chipped black fingernails. She really should re-paint them before the show. Brian sighed deeply, settling back in his seat with his hand over his eyes, rubbing them slowly.

“Sometimes, Findlay…” He whispered, looking up just in time to ask for a pair of drinks from the overwhelmed-looking flight attendant. “You know, we can just mix these ourselves if you put it all out, Darcey. It’s what Marie used to do.”

“I think I might,” The woman smiled at Brian and left to make drinks. The guitarist directed his attention back to his partner, reaching a finger to flip her septum ring down with a faint smile before he caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“I told you when I was in the hospital - when I got shot, I wasn’t as worried about dying, or the pain, as much as I was the fact that you were backstage. I was worried, Findlay, that he would kill you. And I would live.” He pulled her forehead to his, his eyes closed. Findlay continued to stare at him, though, wondering at the PDA - which she referred to as “the sap” - around the guys. “I can’t believe I’m explaining this to you on a plane with these assholes. Findlay, I was frightened because I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life without you.”

In that moment, time seemed to stop as the younger guitarist gazed at her partner’s closed eyes, across his cheekbones. She tried to find words and couldn’t, tried to imagine a life without Haner and couldn’t, not any more than she could a life without her twin.

“I… I understand.” She watched his eyes open, a tiny smile spread across his lips. “I love you,”

“I love you too, little thing,” He pressed his lips against hers for a long moment, his hand buried in her hair. “We will be fine. I will be fine as long as you’re there.”

“Oh, I was going to open the show and leave. You mean I should… not do that?” She smiled faintly at him as the joke sunk in, and he threw his head back laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote this one I couldn't believe what was coming out of my fingertips. I'd been reading a lot about Dimebag Darrell and reminiscing on that time in my life because I was listening to a ton of Pantera. Holy lord I don't wish this on anyone nor do I believe this would happen to anyone because it's despicable. So, so much disclaimer.


End file.
